


How Far I'll Go

by artificialmeggie (ohmymeggs), mia_ugly



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: All Stars 5, M/M, S11 spoilers, eventual Branjie, eventual Trixya, musical numbers!, slooooow burns, the Justice for Nina West Disney Musical Extravaganza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-03-08 21:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymeggs/pseuds/artificialmeggie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/pseuds/mia_ugly
Summary: The finale is over, and Nina West is drinking alone. But not for long.orNina West finally gets the redemptive musical love story he deserves.





	1. chase anything that glitters

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, a girl named Meggie messaged Mia and said, "Hey, do you want to maybe collaborate on something?" To which Mia replied, "Sure!" Then those two started talking about how much they adored Nina West and how Nina deserved so much more than what Season 11 brought him. And Mia and Meggie decided to Fix It. In the style of a Disney Musical as they believe Nina would prefer, which is why both the title of the story and the titles of the chapters will all come from Disney movies.
> 
> We have such big plans for this story. We hope you will enjoy reading it as much as we have enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Edit (5/24/19): We have revamped the first chapter to reflect the events of the S11 reunion that aired last night. The tags are still accurate, but it's going to be a bit of a journey to get there.

The finale is over, and Nina West is drinking alone.

Well not - _alone_ alone. Clearly.  He’s in a bar that’s packed to standing room only with queens from all the seasons, as well as the World of Wonder and VH1 employees that managed to get tickets. The after-party and the after-after-party have been going strong for hours, and Nina has been bubbly and humble and as charming as he possibly can be after spending this long in a corset. (He has a bit of a meltdown when he meets Latrice but that was a long time coming.  Like ten literal years in the making.)

But eventually the day catches up with him, and the constant smile starts to crack like a windshield, and Nina finds himself sitting at the bar alone.  Which is okay. He’s exhausted, and the arches of his feet ache, and if he has to answer one more question about Branjie he might clench his teeth so hard he cracks a molar.

So he may not be _alone_ alone, but he’s alone in a way he can feel (in his hands, his ribs, his heart).

Even then, he’s not alone for long.

“Hey there, Miss Congeniality.” Monet X Change slides up to him at the bar, looking like he was dipped in honey. “Werk. Congratulations girl.”

“Thank you.” Nina would ordinarily be beyond intimidated to meet the latest AllStars winner, a dream of his ever since Monet was crowned. But tonight, after the finale and the hours of making small-talk, Nina’s feeling so much that there’s no room beneath his skin for anything else. His whole body is vibrating. “You look fantastic.”

“You too.  Giving me paper doll realness, _honey._  And I am living for this colour.” Monet’s smile is a bit soft around the edges, and there’s a glass of champagne in his hand. He sings a line from that Janelle Monae song Nina loves: “ _Pink like the holes in your heart..._ So how you feeling?”

“Good,” Nina says, even though that word does not come close to the truth of it. “Great. It’s been such an honour -”

“Listen to you, all congenial.  Miss me with those sound-bites, girl. How you really feeling?”

“Nina - we’re taking off,” A’Keria interrupts before Nina can answer, hand resting gently on Nina’s shoulder.  Slightly behind him stands Vanjie, arms crossed protectively around himself. He’s smiling at Nina, but it doesn’t quite match his eyes.

“Gotta get my beauty sleep,” Vanjie mutters. “Plus I ain’t see no trade in here - present company excepted, course.”

He comes forward to kiss Nina on both cheeks. “Tell your girl not to go home with no serial killers.”

Vanjie nods toward the far corner of of the crowded bar, and he and A’Keria walk off to where Silky is waiting for them by the doors. When Nina follows the direction of Vanjie’s nod, he sees Brooke with a cocktail in his hand, close-talking with a lumberjack-looking hipster that Nina doesn’t recognize.

Shit. Poor Vanjie.

It’s one thing to be cool with each other, to be friends. It’s another thing entirely to watch Brooke move on.

Nina winces out a smile. His heart aches for Vanessa. His heart aches for absolutely no other reason.

When Nina turns back to Monet, the other queen is watching him closely, eyebrow raised.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“What? Oh! Them? Yeah, too bad it didn’t work out. They were basically adorable and the fans -”

“Nah, nah, not that.” Monet finishes his champagne. “What’s your deal with, uh  - tall, blonde and emotionally constipated over there? You and Brooke weren’t ever -”

“God, no. No. Not like - that.” _People that look like me don’t end up with people that look like him_ , he hears a voice in the back of his mind whisper.  He hates that voice, paper soft and sinister. He’s heard it before, thought he’d kicked it to the curb and left it behind after his college days, but it followed along in his shadow. (Sometimes Nina feels like no matter how far he’s come, there are stories that travel with him.) “We like - once.”

“Once? Once what? I fucking knew it by the way.”

“Just kissed. Messed around. It was nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Monet snags two new glasses of champagne from a passing server.  He puts one down in front of Nina, and drains half of the other in one swallow. “I see you, girl. You might be pretty in pink but those shoulders don’t lie. All slumped over.”

Deny, deny, deny.  That was Nina’s first rule. The whole Brooke thing was years ago, anyway, and that particular wound has long scarred over. Maybe there was a moment on that first day of _Drag Race_ where Nina thought that this was some sort of sign (he does that sometimes, forgets that this is real life and not a romantic comedy or Disney film) but - it’s in the past.  

“We’re friends,” Nina says simply.

“Great,” Monet says in a tone that clearly states he doesn’t believe a word Nina is saying. “Well then. Tequila?”

They end up shutting down the bar. That’s not something Nina does often - or, like, ever. When he’s at the club he is _at work_ , he is fundraising, or shaking hands and making connections, or getting petitions signed, forcing all the trendy apolitical gays  to give a damn about something.

He is not sitting with queens in sunshine-yellow dresses, ignoring the rest of the world while getting slowly wasted on tequila and laughing so hard his makeup runs.

Monet is fucking funny. Nina knew he was funny, loved him on both seasons, but it’s different up close. When Monet starts reading the queens in the room Maya Angelou-style, Nina almost falls off his stool.

At some point Brooke and whoever he’s going home with come to say goodbye (Brooke wraps his arms around Nina, says “I love you, love you, love you,” three times against his jaw). Nina can smell the cigarette smoke on his breath, the whisky on his mouth.

“Love you too,” Nina says, only a little bit worried.

As Brooke drags his skinny lumberjack away, Nina hears him slur something that sounds like “gotta find Vanjie before we leave.” That’s going to be a long and fruitless search, but Nina leaves him to it.  He watches the pair go (pretends that he isn’t).

It may be an old scar, but old scars still ache from time to time. This one does. Smarts. Worms its way into Nina’s heart like tendrils, squeezes tight, compresses. He knows it’s platonic love he and Brooke share, but there was a time, before Vanjie but during _Drag Race_ when _maybe_ for a minute he thought— _Stop_.

If Vanessa Vanjie Matteo wasn’t good enough for Brooke, then the rest of the world hasn’t got a hope in hell.

“What are you doing after this, Nina West?”

All thoughts of Brooke aside (still rolling just under the surface), Nina likes the way Monet says his first and last name together. He likes that kitty-cat wig with the finger waves that Monet is wearing, looking like Clara Bow in some black and white film. He likes a lot of things right now, but unlike Brooke, Nina _is_ drunk.

“What am I doing? Back to Columbus for a bit.  Hosting a finale party and then... and then. Then the tour! Yes, that.”

“Did you just forget about your own tour?” Monet laughs, low and delighted. “Girl, you’re in trouble.”

“So much trouble,” Nina confides, reaching out to put a hand on Monet’s arm. “Just - scads of it.”

“‘Scads?’” Monet laughs again, “You age one-hundred years every time you drink?”

“Every time!”

Monet shakes his head, rolling his eyes a bit (but not in a mean way. In kind of a charming way. Nina likes a lot of things right now.)

“I didn’t mean after the show is over.  I meant - like tonight. What are you doing after _this_?”

“Oh.” Nina blinks. This can’t be - “ _Oh_.”

“You want to get out of here?” Monet is watching him with dark-lidded eyes, no laughter on his face any more. His lips part, and Nina stares at his purple lipstick and thinks _yes_ and then a beat later _please._ Because he is a gentleman.

“I’m drunk,” Nina says in the spirit of full disclosure.

“You think I’ve got some miracle liver? Me too. I’m fine with it if you are.”

“Okay.” If they’re _both_ drunk it’s fine. As long as they - talk about it first. It’s fine. “Um. Okay.” Nina realizes he hasn’t moved his hand off of Monet’s arm. Now that he notices, it’s all he can think about.

How does someone do this? Should they leave at the same time? Separate times? The lights in the bar are coming on, and the last few stragglers are starting to go. Most of the girls from Season 11 have already left, God knows how long ago.  Nina didn’t even notice.

“I’m in room 1518,” Monet thankfully interrupts Nina’s panic. “You should come by.” He moves his arm out from underneath Nina’s fingertips, and Nina instantly misses the warmth of his skin. Monet grabs his clutch, weaves out of the bar without a backwards glance, and Nina takes a few moments to jump headfirst back into that panic spiral.

He hasn’t done something like this in - a very long time. He isn’t really a casual sex kind of person. He won’t say no to it, obviously, but - it’s been awhile.

He’s been busy.  

 _Come on, girl_ , he tells himself, _just act like people proposition you in bars everyday. Just act like this is a totally normal thing that you do, because you are a normal person._

Nina waits and panics for another ten minutes, before he gets up from his stool like a normal person would. He casually, elegantly (not at all unsteady on his heels) leaves the bar.  Normally. He takes the elevator alone, in silence, to the fifteenth floor.

His knock on room 1518 is so hesitant that it’s basically inaudible. No one hears it and he’s forced to knock again.  He waits in the brightly lit hallway, feeling like a football player in pink, until the door opens.

Monet’s holding a makeup wipe, and his face is shining, paint off. He’s changed out of his dress, taken off his padding. He’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and Nina immediately feels like an idiot.

“Oh,” Monet says, “You’re still in - all that.”

Shit. Fuck. “I - yes. Sorry. I should have -”

“No, I -” Monet takes a step closer.  “Told you I was living for that colour.”

Then he puts his hands on either side of Nina’s face and kisses him.

It’s a good kiss. Warm and tasting a bit like mint (Monet must have brushed his teeth). Monet’s lips are soft and gentle, grasping Nina’s own as if he doesn’t mind the taste of tequila and anxiety.  He doesn’t make any attempt to deepen things - keeps the kiss sweet, keeps his hands on Nina’s face. His hands are warm too.

“You wanna come in?” Monet asks when he pulls back, and Nina has forgotten how to make words happen.  So he just nods. Lets Monet pull him forward gently, close the door behind him.

They start kissing again right away, just standing there in the middle of the room. Nina loses himself a bit in it, closes his eyes and lets the tequila do the thinking for him. He sucks Monet’s tongue into his mouth and Monet lets out a soft gasp that - yeah, that’ll work. Now that tongues are involved, the kissing gets harder, nothing tentative about it. Teeth pull on Nina’s lower lip, the edge of his jaw, tease their way down his neck. It’s good. It feels good, and he has to bite his mouth shut to stop himself from saying as much out loud.

Monet pulls away suddenly, and Nina just stares at him. He wobbles slightly, and steps out of his heels before he falls down.

“You’re probably still all - strapped in, hey?” Monet’s eyes are a bit unfocused, moving over Nina’s face. “Do you want to change? Take your paint off? I should have asked.”

Nina feels like an idiot again. Why the hell didn’t he go to his room first?

“Thanks. I’ll just -” He gestures to the bathroom, and Monet gives him a look.

“I’ve seen it all, girl. Let me get your zipper for you.”

Nina’s lips sting and his heart is racing. Getting out of drag in front of someone kind of kills the mystery. Not that Nina feels his body is any great piece of artwork to be slowly revealed but it’s not really a sexy process. Maybe it’s different when you look like Aquaria or Yvie or something but - Nina’s album is called “Drag is Magic” for a reason.

Despite all of this (blame the tequila just - always, for everything) he turns around.

Moves his wig to the side so that Monet can slide the zipper of his dress down his spine. It makes goosebumps break out all over Nina’s arms, and the dress falls to the floor. When Nina turns back around to pick it up, Monet is still standing there, a bit closer than before. They look at each other.  Monet reaches forward to take off each of Nina’s massive crystal earrings, putting them carefully on the nightstand.

Nina just - stands there. Stands there as Monet unhooks his cincher, rolls his hip-pads down his legs, takes his tights along with them. Stands there as Monet drops to his knees in front of Nina, gently pulling down his underwear.

The dress was loose enough the Nina didn’t need to tape anything or do much of a tuck, and he’s fucking grateful for that. Still, as he glances down at himself, he sees a body covered with angry red lines, places where shapewear dug into his skin, all the illusion of his silhouette stripped away.

“You’re so hot,” Monet murmurs and Nina cannot hear that sort of thing right now, is totally not ready for it.

“Thanks?” he says and Monet breathes a laugh against his thigh before dragging his tongue across Nina’s hip.

“This okay?”

Nina nods, can’t speak. He’s harder than he thought he could be after the amount he had to drink, and Monet’s hands (tracing up his thighs, moving between his legs) are so warm, and strong, and soft. When Monet bends forward and sucks him into his mouth, Nina gasps, back arching as he tries not to come immediately.  Everything is impossibly tight and wet, and he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to remain upright. He puts an unsteady hand on Monet’s shoulder, and Monet reaches up, moves Nina’s hand to the back of his head. There’s stubble under Nina’s fingertips, and the soft sounds of Monet swallowing around him fill the room (along with Nina’s own frantic breathing).

“You taste fucking amazing,” Monet murmurs, dragging his tongue up the length of him and moaning.  “Christ, I - bed, the bed, please -”

Nina stumbles backwards, falling onto the scratchy hotel comforter in a graceless sprawl. Monet is pulling off his shirt one-handed and then quickly climbing on top of him. His hand is on Nina’s cock and he’s grinding his hips into Nina’s thigh, and he’s kissing him again, hard and deep, like he’s starving. Nina can’t remember being with anyone who wanted to kiss him this much. It’s intoxicating, makes him feel something - he can’t put a label to it but it takes up too much room inside his chest.

“Can you just -” Monet bites out against Nina’s lips, and Nina pushes his hand past the waistband of Monet’s sweats, finds his cock hard and wet against his palm. Monet makes such a delicious noise at the first stroke of Nina’s hand that Nina can’t be blamed for the sounds he makes in response.

It goes like this for awhile, the two of them fucking each other’s fists and breathing into each other’s mouths. It’s quiet in the room except for cut-off moans and huffs of breath, and Nina lets his body take the lead in this, lets himself move and feel without thinking about it (tequila is a godsend).

When Monet comes it is nearly silent, just a stutter in his breath and a few sharp jerks of his hips and Nina’s hand is suddenly wet and trembling.  It’s the hottest thing that’s happened to him in - in a long time - and he buries his face in Monet’s neck, goes somewhere else for an orgasm (“okay - okay - Oh _fuck_ -”) that lasts longer than he expects it to, almost on the edge of too much.

Breathe.

_In. Out._

“Fuck me up, Nina West,” Monet says against his neck, with a low gorgeous sigh. Nina lies back against the pillows, and realizes that Monet’s mouth is smeared with pink lipstick.  It makes him huff out a tipsy laugh, which makes Monet smile with his eyes closed.

“Did you know you’re still in your wig?”

Oh my fucking God.

Nina is - _still IN HIS WIG_. His fucking bubblegum pink wig. He doesn’t know how to react to this knowledge, so he makes a mortifying sound that might be a laugh and might be a cough and might be someone choking.

It’s okay (he thinks) because Monet laughs too, covering his face with his hands, hiding that gorgeous smile. When Monet’s recovered himself, he leans over and starts to take the pins out of Nina’s hair, and Nina blushes for God knows what reason.  As the wig slides off his head, Monet kisses him right above the pulse point in his jaw.

Things get foggy after that. The room is spinning slightly, and Nina isn’t sure whether that’s exhaustion or alcohol or the absolutely boneless and beautiful feeling that follows excellent sex. He thinks he hears fireworks going off outside, but when he cranes his head towards the window, expecting a shower of fiery glitter, the sky is dark.

Nina closes his eyes for a moment, thirty seconds tops. When he opens them again the sky has gone from black to misty blue, and Monet’s mouth is between his legs.

“Oh my God, you’re -”

Nina stays awake just long enough to come down Monet’s throat and then suck the taste off Monet’s tongue as they make out messily afterwards. At some point Monet loses the rest of his clothing, and the silk of his skin against Nina’s is utterly unfair - how could anyone possibly  live through this? How do people ever get out of bed if Monet is in bed with them? The pressure of Monet’s mouth is something criminal; Nina feels like he could kiss him for hours. Maybe he already has been; time is all messed up in this hotel room, unravelled like bad knitting (just ask Nina’s gran, she’ll tell you about it).

He falls back asleep with Monet’s face pressed against his collarbone, murmuring nonsense to his skin.  Nina tells himself in five minutes he’ll get up, gather his clothing, and go. It’s not dawn yet, five minutes won’t hurt.

“Yousmellnice.” Monet’s words are slurred together and soft, mouth damp on Nina’s skin, and Nina only closes his eyes for five minutes.

*****

He wakes with a pounding headache and a sense of regret that he’s pretty sure is caused by more than just the copious amounts of tequila he drank last night. And this bed… Is not his own, he’s pretty sure, at least not the hotel bed he’s been in for the last two nights while they got ready for the finale and the reunion and-

 _Oh_.

An arm wraps around his waist, tightens around his midsection, pulls him close. Beside him, Monet sighs.

 _Monet_.

Shit. _Fuck_. Jesus. _God_.

The night returns to him in flashes: Monet’s hands soft on his stomach, back, and thighs; Monet’s lips ghosting over his own, teeth against his lip and hip and-

Nina squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up in his own bed, in his own room, even back in Columbus surrounded by dogs and not a man would be preferable at this exact moment because this cannot have happened.

Casual sex with random trade in bars is okay. It’s - _different_ \- like he said before, and it’s been awhile. But he feels things too deeply, gets too attached - for it to be the norm. One kiss and he’s ready to tattoo their names on his goddamn wrist. (Hyperbolically speaking. Mostly. Except for that one time. But it was college and he was much younger, and _thank God_ it had just been Sharpie.)

But this is… This is less than good. Monet is a Ru girl. A winner. A fellow Miss Congeniality, and one of Nina’s favorites and this… This is bad. (Potentially.) Probably. He’s almost sure. So he was feeling some kind of way about Brooke because of something that happened a gazillion years ago (and wasn’t going to turn into anything anyway, Nina, _Jesus_ ) and Monet had been there, golden yellow and luscious in those finger waves and that slit so high it should have been against the law, and he’d... Taken advantage of the situation. Too much tequila, not enough common sense. Isn’t that how every bad decision starts?

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and expels it in a long, measured stream through his pursed lips because his heart is speeding up, and it won’t be long before he starts spiraling again.

And another. _In. Out._

Another. _In. Out._

“Hey.”

Nina’s breath catches in his throat at the sound of Monet’s voice and he coughs a little. Very cool. Very how you want your _Drag Race-_ winning hook up to see you first thing in the morning. He prays he had the sense to take all his makeup off before… Whatever.

“Hello,” Nina says cautiously, like the situation isn’t real, ceases to exist if they just don’t acknowledge it. He grips the sheet tightly to his chest.

Monet chuckles, low and deep, sends rumbles through the mattress. Then he turns over and presses his glasses to his face, peering at the clock on the nightstand.

“Shit, girl,” he mutters, sliding the spectacles over his nose. “It’s noon. We already missed breakfast.”

Then Monet is out of bed, perfect ass on full display in front of Nina - and even bleary-eyed and hungover he can appreciate _that_ \- but he closes his eyes tightly. (He still sneaks two or _five_ more peeks while Monet gets dressed, if he’s being honest.) It’s not going to happen again - _can’t_ happen again - and he wants to remember it. Only so he can fully regret it later. He went to Catholic school after all. He’s very used to metaphorical self-flagellation. Yeah. It’s very that.

Monet steps into the bathroom, and Nina takes the opportunity to fully assess his clothing situation. He’d come in drag, which meant he has to leave in drag, which is not… Ideal. Because a hotel at noon on a Tuesday afternoon is going to be far more bustling than a hotel at five on a Tuesday morning, and he looks a lot different as Andrew in a dress than he does as Nina in full drag.

He drags a hand across his face and his palm comes away streaked with black. Fantastic. All this and he’d managed to sleep in his makeup.

So. He figures this is the bed he’s made and now he has to lie in it. If his room weren’t all the way down on the fifth floor, he’d just take the stairs. He’s far more likely to run into people on the elevator than on the stairs.

“You wanna grab lunch?” Monet asks him, toothbrush in hand, working back and forth across his impeccable teeth, white foam at the corner of his perfect mouth.

Everything about Monet is perfect. Which is half of why Nina can’t figure out (or believe) last night. It just doesn’t - _work_ that way for him.

People like Monet ( _and Brooke_ , that nasty little voice in the back of his head reminds him) can have anyone they want. _So why did Monet choose you, Nina West? Why_ Nina West _? Fifth-runner up, pushing 40, pudgy, soft-spoken. He could have left with anyone last night and yet here you are. When does the other shoe drop?_

“Look, I don’t know where you went just now,” Monet says after rinsing his mouth. “But no pressure. I just figure we both gotta eat and I know a place.” He shrugs.

If this had been - something other than what it had been - Nina would think this was a date. But it wasn’t. Because it was… Whatever it had been. He’s still not really sure of that. The tequila’s still making everything a little fuzzy. It’s not a date. Monet’s tone is too casual, too easy.

_And people like him don’t date people like you._

“Um, sure,” he says before he can stop himself. Because he meant to say no. He was going to say no. _Why didn’t he say no?_ Because he wanted to say yes, damn it. “But I should probably…” He gestures between the pile of pink on the floor and his face.

“Right!” Monet laughs, and Nina thinks he almost hears a hint of nerves in it. Like maybe this is awkward for him too. “Yeah, probably not the best idea to go out in day drag and last night’s makeup. Not the most comfortable…” Monet runs a hand over his bald head and sighs.

Oh, it’s awkward. _Lovely._ “Well.” Nina’s sitting up, still clutching the sheet to his chest, waiting, but for what he isn’t sure. It’s not like Monet hasn’t seen him _intimately,_ so why is he acting like a fourteen-year-old undressing in gym class for the first time?

“I think I’m going to shower.” Monet points over his shoulder to the bathroom. “What room are you in? I’ll just come down and meet you.”

Nina nods, grateful. “Five-oh-nine.”

“Great.” Monet smiles and it looks genuine. The light reaches his eyes, his shoulders relax a little. “I’ll, um… Thirty minutes?”

“Sure.”

Then Monet waves a little and disappears into the bathroom, and Nina bolts out of bed and pulls on that damn pink dress faster than he thought possible. He grabs his wig in one hand and his heels in the other and takes off out the door. The whole thing probably takes less than a minute, and his dress isn’t zipped; but honestly he couldn’t care less. All he wants to do is get in the shower and scrub his body raw of the regret and shame and scent of tequila coming from his pores.

Monet’s room isn’t too far from the elevator - thankfully - and Nina jabs the button approximately eight times, even though he knows it won’t help anything. It makes him feel better.

The doors finally slide open and Nina wants to _die_. Prays for a chasm to open where the tiny slit between elevator and wall is so he can just step into it and bid his painful existence farewell. Because lined up along the back of the elevator, is the entire cast of the Dream Girls: Vanjie, A’Keria and Silky.  Fan-fucking-tastic.

Vanjie’s texting frantically on his phone but his mouth gapes open as Nina steps into the elevator. The doors slide closed with a soft _whoosh_ and Nina faces forward instantly, does his best impression of someone that doesn’t exist.

“Hello there, Miss Nina!” Silky is much too loud, and much too cheerful for the throbbing in Nina’s head. “Ain’t you looking well-rested this morning?”

Nina gives him a small, awkward salute over his shoulder, but can’t make himself turn around. Maybe the cable will snap, that would be okay. Death, at this point, would be a welcome distraction from the heat in Nina’s cheeks and embarrassment roiling in his stomach. Or maybe that’s the tequila again. Yeah, that’s the motto. Blame the tequila - for everything.

“We were going to lunch,” Vanjie says gently, “if you want to come.”

“You can shower first, we’ll wait,” Silky continues, “Gotta get that stank off you. We’ve all been there, walking back down to the room after getting some trade in the hotel—”

“Silk,” Vanjie hisses under his breath.

Nina just shakes his head and tries to focus on the numbers ticking by. “No, thanks,” he says as the numbers land on five and the doors slide open. “I think I’ll just order in.”

He’s out of the doors and feeling like he’s over the worst of it, when Silky’s parting comment hits him right between the shoulder blades.

“You walking funny, Miss Nina?” Silky whistles after him. “Must have got that _good_ D.”

And that’s when Nina decides that he absolutely, positively cannot go to lunch with Monet. It can’t be done. Can’t happen. Cannot continue.

Whatever happened between them last night was fueled by alcohol and angst and they have to leave it there in the hotel. He makes his mind up definitively as he scrubs at his face under the shower spray.

If they’re going to work together (which Nina very much hopes they will because Monet is amazing - might be one of the funniest people Nina’s ever met, actually, as well as a brilliant musician and - and anyway that’s _enough_ ) they have to forget about last night.

So he will. And that starts with not going to lunch.

When Monet knocks on his door and calls his name, Nina doesn’t answer. It isn’t the most mature way to handle the situation, but he isn’t feeling incredibly mature in that moment. So he remains silent for the entire five minutes that Monet stands at his door (heart beating like a snare drum in his throat,  shame burning across his cheekbones.)

Later, when he steps out in the hall to collect his room service (because he _does_ have to eat, Monet wasn’t wrong), Nina finds his jewelry atop his neatly folded shapewear just outside his door. Monet’s phone number is printed neatly on a square of hotel stationery, speared through one of his earrings so it can’t get lost.

And maybe, Nina thinks later as he enters the digits into his phone illustrated with the yellow-heart emoji (so what if he’s sentimental?), he wishes he had been just a little more mature.

Or a little more brave.

He blames the tequila.


	2. so prepare for the chance of a lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reworked Chapter One to reflect the events of the S11 reunion that aired last night, so you may want to give it a reread as there have been some important changes.
> 
> That being said, we are thrilled that you all are as invested in Nina as we are. Please enjoy this update.

****Nina is in Columbus on the day he gets the call.

It’s his last show before Drag Con. He’s already going through dog-withdrawal. His boys will be fine of course but he fucking hates leaving them; as soon as he starts packing a suitcase they know something’s up and it breaks his heart.

Anyway. He’s glad to spend his last night at home in one of his favourite places in the world, surrounded by the people he loves. It’s only been a few days since the finale and reunion, and Nina’s feeling a bit raw about everything. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t looked at Monet’s number in his phone several dozen times, contemplated what he could say to make his behaviour the morning after acceptable. The only things that come to his mind are lies (family emergency! food poisoning! traumatic brain injury after falling in the shower!) and Nina doesn’t do that. Much.

So.

It’s either own up and confess how he was feeling, or - pretend that number in his phone doesn’t exist. Maybe stare at it from time to time, sighing (before reminding himself that it was just one night and didn’t mean anything anyway). And then sigh some more and distract himself with peanut butter straight from the jar. You know - whatever results in the least amount of dignity possible.

Anyway.

The reunion is going to air tomorrow night, but Nina’s going to be on a plane as it happens. That’s fine, he knows how it all went down, and he doesn’t really need to see Brooke and Vanjie’s shy little love story unfold (and ultimately self-destruct) once again. He saw it all already, and firsthand. Picked up the pieces of Brooke’s shattered heart and whip-stitched them back together as best he could while the other chain-smoked and wallowed in denial and blame.

Nina’s sitting in the dressing room, paint mostly on but not in his dress (he’s doing “Let It Go” from _Frozen_ with a full-on ice queen reveal because it’s been that kind of a month. Maybe he’s coming for Brooke’s gig, but maybe not.), and scrolling through Instagram when an unfamiliar number flashes white on the screen.

He’s used to this. The charity work means somehow a lot of people get his number - it’s not ideal, but it makes the work he’s doing worth it so he deals.  He’ll deal.

He slides his thumb across the screen, plasters on his best smile (it’s easier to be nice to people when you’re smiling), greets them with a cheery, “Hello!”

“Nina, this is Maya with World of Wonder. How are you this evening?”

His heart leaps to his throat. What could they want with him now? There are still two episodes of the show left to air, but publicity is almost all died down. And calling him instead of his manager?

“Good. Great!” he chokes out. “I’m… How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. I’m calling because I’d like to formally invite you to participate in season five of RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars.”

The world? Stops. His heart? Pounds. His brain? Freezes.

 _All Stars_ . _Another chance. Redemption._

“Yes!” he says immediately, too quickly, too enthusiastically, as soon as he can make his mouth work again. “Yes! When?”

On the other end of the line, Maya laughs, high and clear.

“Yay, that was an easy sell. We’re excited to have you back! We’ll be filming in late July, and you’ll receive further instructions by email. But please do remember that the terms of your verbal contract start now, so no one other than your emergency contact will be allowed to know you are participating. Reach out if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you!”

“Looking forward to seeing you again, Nina. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

And with a click, she’s gone. But Nina’s entire world has shifted on its axis. He just _stands_ there in front of the mirror, unable to move, unable to think.

_All Stars._

When they’d first asked him about it, way back in January when the Season 11 girls had first started doing promos, he’d given them a tentative yes.  He knew how big the platform was and wanted to make the most of it. But he’d also… not wanted to count his chickens, or something. You never know how America (or the world) will react to you (just ask Silky).  Maybe it’s vain, but Nina had wanted to see if they liked him, _really_ liked him - like he’d hoped they would.

He couldn’t have imagined AOC going _live_ to protest his elimination. Or Leslie Jones being so angry (he really does hope someone sent her a box of cookies) or Rihanna (Rihanna!) coming to his defense after that controversial lip-sync. Then his Miss Congeniality win. It was almost too much all at once.

He’d also figured they meant an All Stars far, _far_ away. Like. Season eight. Or nine. Maybe even ten (if he’s still able to stomp around in heels without a walker at that point). Right after his own season? A pipe dream.

But it’s here, and it’s happening, and he’d be foolish not to take the opportunity that was presented to him. It’s the ultimate redemption story, and look at how beloved the All Stars winners are.

He ticks through them in his head: Chad, Alaska, Trixie, Trinity, Monet…

There, he falters. He usually just tries not to think about Monet, glowing golden and dripping in sequins and body silky smooth against his own. Best not to dwell when there isn’t any peanut butter in sight.

But who needs peanut butter when you’re an All Star?

He _giggles,_ straight up lets a gleeful laugh reverberate through his chest and up through his nose and spread like honey, coating every surface in the small dressing room. Just once though, before he falls silent again. Studies his reflection in the mirror.

He might be in shock.

“Nina, you okay?” The evening’s MC (Luz, lovely person, really involved in the trans youth movement) is looking at him curiously from the doorway of the dressing room.

Nina blinks.  The phone is still in his hand. He knew this was a possibility, of course.  Just - you don’t know until you know - you know? Part of the reason he’s gotten this far (he always tells himself) is that he never assumes anything is a certainty.  He always counts on having to fight his way those last few feet to the finish line.

“Nina?”

“I’m in All Stars,” Nina says.

“What?” Luz squeaks, and Nina stumbles forward, grabbing her arm.

“I’m in All Stars.”

The other queens in the greenroom turn their heads in unison at the statement.

“I’m in All Stars,” Nina says again.

The queens stalk over to him with their hands on their hips, heels clicking in synchronized stomps on the linoleum floor.

And then Nina can hear music. (When did he put on his gown?) A brass band, a string section.  And the queens start singing:

_“Nina West you’re going places_

_Always knew you’d make it far_

_Nina West you got that phone call_

_You are our All Star!”_

 

“I am!” Nina gasps as he’s lifted up by the queens and carried out into the middle of the club. The dance floor is crowded but somehow the patrons are making a circle around him, moving in perfect rhythm.

_“Nina West, sent home too early_

_Still e-lev-en-gendary._

_Time to show the world you’re more than_

_Miss Congeniality!”_

 

A group of drag kings by the pool table start spinning their cues over their heads like batons (so much talent in this community!)

“ _Brought camp to the masses,_ ” they sing in baritone.

_Brought pride to our town,_

_We can’t wait to see you_

_Wearing that All Stars crown!”_

 

“Thank you!” Nina is set down on the stage. Glitter starts falling from the ceiling, catching in his wig and eyelashes.

“ _Love you all_ ,” he sings alone to the enraptured crowd, “ _you are my family,_

_I’ll make you proud and do my best._

_We can change the world together_

_Go big, be kind, go West!”_

 

“ _Go West!”_ the crowd sings back.

 _“Go Wessssssst!_ ” Nina hits a perfect falsetto high note, throwing his arms open -

“Nina.”

Nina waves at the cheering crowd -

“Nina!”

Glitter keeps falling like snowflakes, ice cold and shimmering -

“Nina.  You okay?” Luz, the evening’s MC, is staring at him in the doorway of the greenroom.

Nina looks at her. There is no glitter in his eyelashes. There is no music playing in the background. Over his shoulder, a couple of bored local queens are penciling on their eyebrows. He’s wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts and not the shimmering blue Elsa gown.

He’s still holding his cellphone in his hand.

“Um,” Nina says. “Yep.”

*****

Nina talks to Brooke a lot.

It makes sense; they’ve been friends for a long time, they really bonded during their season, Nina helped Brooke through his breakup with Vanjie (although Brooke insisted at the time he was _fine._ Still does, actually. Nina has his own theories about that, but he isn’t pushing).

So yeah. They chat. A lot.

And all Nina wants to do is tell Brooke about his All Stars call, but he _can’t_ because of the damn NDA.

It’s frustrating.

They meet for breakfast early on the first day of Drag Con, Brooke in his customary black and white, Nina in a navy blue button up spotted with pink flamingos (it felt right).

They’ve no sooner settled into the booth and given their orders than Nina’s knee starts bouncing. Nerves. Anxiety. (Yes - both.)

“What’s with you?” Brooke asks while he sips his coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up.”

Nina shrugs. “Nervous about the Con, I guess.”

“And?” Brooke’s eyes narrow.

“ _And?”_

“And what else?” He stirs another packet of sugar into the cup. “I know you. It’s not like you to be nervous about a networking opportunity.”

Nina scoffs. “Drag Con is way more than just a networking opportunity and I -”

“You’re a bad fucking liar. Takes one to know one.” Brooke leans his elbows on the table, cool as a Canadian autumn, presses his fingertips together, stares Nina down. “What’s going on?”

Nina sighs. “I wish I could tell you, trust me, it’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that I _literally_ can’t.” He widens his eyes, hoping maybe Brooke will get the point.

Apparently it works, because after a few moments, recognition blooms across Brooke’s face and he laughs. “Really? Like. _Officially_ really?”

Nina nods. This is okay, right? He’s not technically breaking the contract. It’s not like he _told_ Brooke anything verbally.

“Nina! That’s - oh my god!” Then Brooke is busily tapping away at his phone and a sense of dread overcomes Nina.

“You can’t tell anybody - “

Brooke waves him off. “I’m just telling Vanjie.”

Okay, that’s - something to come back to certainly, but - more pressing matters first. “Brooke, seriously. You can’t tell _anybody_. I’m not supposed to tell anybody.”

“You didn’t.” Brooke shrugs. Good to know at least they share the same sentiment about verbal contracts. That might come in handy during litigation. “I figure the House of West has a lot of prove, and you’ve never backed down from a challenge. So I know you’ll bring it and… I just kind of wanted to give the competition a heads up.” He bites his lip and waits for Nina to process.

And - look, it takes him a minute. Because it’s really a lot of information at one time.

Item 1: Brooke and Vanjie are still _close_. He knew that. Everybody with Twitter and Instagram knew. (Hell, for a little while, even Nina wasn’t 100% sure they weren’t still together.) Close enough for Vanessa to tell Brooke about an All Stars call when legally sworn to utmost secrecy?

Yeah, actually, that tracks. Vanjie’s shit at keeping secrets, and he’s still indescribably in love with Brooke, only an idiot (like Brooke) wouldn’t see that. So. Do the math.

Item 2: Vanjie is _back back back_ on Drag Race. For the third season in a row. And the bitch can turn it. Nina doubts very much there will be 47 swimsuits, pasties, panties, and bras this time around. He’s a little intimidated, if he’s being quite honest.

Okay, so it’s really only two points of information, but it’s two very large points that have a big, pointy impact on his life. Which leads to:

Item 1: Nina had been relieved and happy when Brooke and Vanessa were able to start talking again after the breakup. They’d been using him as a middle man - a _mediator_ , he preferred (far less tacky) - and although he loved them both, it was exhausting. And he could only say, “I think you should just talk to _him_ and not me,” so many times before he got frustrated. But he had persevered and eventually, Brooke had texted Vanjie and they’d started to repair their friendship.

 _Go figure that._ Nina’s inner saboteur is back, has been back since the night of the finale taping, the night he spent with Monet. He hates it. Wishes he could cut into himself and carve it out like a cancer. _Adults talking through their issues and handling shit. Who knew it was possible?_

So he should have texted Monet. Fine - it’s fine. Water under the… thing.

Item 2: Who else is on _All Stars_ ? If Nina’s being really honest, he’s been on cloud nine about the whole thing, and hasn’t given much thought to who else could be competing. He has his dream cast, of course, and a long list of Ru girls he’d _love_ to work with. But the thought of competing against the Very Best of the Very Best is… Well, he’s shook. To say the least.

His face must convey it because Brooke reaches across the table and takes his hand. “Hey. You deserve this, Nina.”

He nods, tears hot in his eyes, and wills himself not to cry. “I bet you told Vanjie the same thing,” he says, voice catching a bit in his throat.

“I did.” Brooke laughs, unashamed of his affection, even when it’s blinding. “I also told him he was crazy for doing three seasons in a row but…” He holds out his hands, shrugs, as if to say it isn’t his responsibility anymore. Nina knows he’s probably right, but deep down he suspects that Brooke and Vanjie are far more entangled than they like to think, and Brooke’s opinion means more to Vanessa than either one of them will care to admit.

Relationships are messy.

Anyway.

“Do you think I should have said no?” Nina asks,  afraid for the answer. “Taken a break? Focused on the charity? Ridden the first-year wave a little longer?”

“Hell no!” Brooke responds immediately. “Take the opportunity. People fucking _adore_ you, Nina. Plus, look at Monet! She won right after her season so. It can be done.”

Nina considers, briefly, telling Brooke about the whole tangled Monet thing. Decides, instead, to deflect. “So, um. That guy you took back to your room after the finale… the beardo... character.  How is… that going?”

Brooke raises an eyebrow at him. “This is really what you want to talk about right now?”

“It’s just good to see you moving on.” (Is it though? Is it really?)

Brooke rolls his eyes and smiles into his coffee. “What about you? Any romance on the horizon for Nina West?”

“No.” Nina snorts. “It’s been…” Ten days, eight hours, and - he glances at his watch - one minute. Approximately. Not that he’s counting. “A while. Let’s just say a while.”

Brooke’s mouth quirks to the side and his left eye twitches the tiniest bit. “Well.” He places his mug on the table and smiles at Nina. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities on tour. We’ll get you on Tinder and Grindr! Trade in every city, Nina.”

Actually, Nina usually prefers to go back to his room and shower for about 45 minutes before collapsing into bed and sleeping until his alarm goes off the next morning. Finding someone to sleep with and then actually _fucking_ them? That seems exhausting. Better to let Brooke take that one on himself (seems like that’s his preferred coping strategy).

And Nina is in no place to judge coping strategies, so despite any - concerns he might feel (the lines beneath Brooke’s eyes, the nicotine stains on his hands, that thing he does with his face that makes Nina want to hug him) he keeps his mouth shut.

He’s getting awfully good at the whole not-speaking-up thing. It’s not his best look. Not at all.

*****

On the air-conditioned floors of Drag Con, Nina gets to shake hands and hug people from all across the country, children to teenagers to tiny old grannies with walkers. It’s a completely surreal and humbling experience; he can’t get over the way it feels to have people know his name, people _thank him_ for doing something that he loves.

And he gets to meet up again with so many of the queens he’s crazy about, queens he never thought would give a shit about him. It’s so nice seeing Adore again, she’s exactly the kind of person he wishes he had the guts to be when he was her age. And Peppermint is everything and Miss Fame is like an actual goddess in person as well as on television and then there’s James St. James -  it’s a lot.

It almost feels like a trip to Disneyland but gayer (a _bit)_ and with more neuroses.

There’s a weird moment with Miz Cracker, which is unexpected –Nina’s been a stan since Season 10, watches her recaps religiously.  He didn’t think they were going to be best friends or anything (all right, maybe he thought they’d get there eventually) but when he introduces himself she basically stares right through him, says nothing, and starts to walk away. Luckily Vanjie is with her, so Nina embraces him to dissipate the awkward tension. He and Vanjie have a mini-meltdown over how in love they are with each other, and after Cracker is well out of earshot, Vanjie gives Nina a look.

“She feeling some type of way about you, hey? You steal her man or something?”

“Absolutely not.” Nina’s a bit hurt – he was legitimately excited about meeting Cracker – but she’s entitled to an off day. Or to just plain not like him (though who doesn’t like him? He’s bloody endearing, like a Labrador puppy).

Anyway, not to overdo the animal comparisons, but water off a duck’s back.

He doesn’t see Monet at the Con. Which is - probably for the best. Nina doesn’t avoid him but - he doesn’t go looking for him either. And really, he barely gets a moment to sneak away from his booth, so it isn’t like he’s a total garbage person. He doesn’t throw himself to the ground or anything at the sight of Monet coming toward him, his life hasn’t yet reached the level of pure farce.

It’s barely been a week anyway; Nina’s still figuring out how to appropriately apologize (appropriately apologize _without_ coming across like a pathetic sad-sack who has maybe thought about that night a bit more than could be considered ‘casual’).

So. Space. Time. Possibly a time machine. All or any of them will work.

The Con ends on a high note and Nina basically goes on tour immediately after, doing a lot of PR for the season and his albums. In New York he finally meets Leslie Jones and loses his mind. He kind of floats through the next two months, lets himself be buoyed up by the love and support of his community, lets it erase the insecurities that wound like thorns around his heart after Season 11.

He travels, he makes people laugh. It’s what he’s good at. It’s how he’s survived.

When he’s not working, he’s practicing his sewing and designing and bribing his witchy seamstress friends into helping him put some new looks together. Somehow the days tick by too quickly. Spring ends, and summer breaks scalding over Ohio. Nina’s packing up his bags and hugging people goodbye and crying ( _not_ really, but just don’t look at him for a minute) over his dogs.

And getting on a plane to L.A.

Being on set is familiar but also kind of panic inducing. Nina didn’t realize how differently he carried himself when he was getting ready to be filmed until his spine straightened helplessly and he suddenly realized he had arms. His body remembers how intense this experience was (is) even if his brain doesn’t.

He’s dressed in a (non-copyright infringing) version of Woody from Toy Story, sequined and cinched and proportionized, just like Michelle would want. Maya the P.A. hugs him, introduces him to the sound guy who hooks up his microphone, taping it just under Nina’s neckline (“At least buy me dinner first!” Nina says with a shrill, nervous laugh, and the sound guy doesn’t even flinch, clearly having heard it before. Nina may actually have said the same thing last season. It - might also have been the same sound guy).

“You ready?”

Nina is ready. He adjusts her cowboy hat, shifts her fringed leather belt and the sequined holsters for her bubble guns.

Then the lights are on him, and the cameras are rolling, and Nina pulls down the shutters on his insecurity (make ‘em laugh, it’s what he does).

“Hey y’all. I’m here to show you how the West was Won.”

Nina West struts into the werkroom, bubble guns at the ready, and the rest is _her_ story.  



	3. hearts ablaze, banners high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is close to 10k words, so settle in with an iced beverage. Thank you, everyone, who is reading, kudosing, and commenting. It motivates us like you can't believe. We are thrilled to spread the gospel of Ninex.

****“ _Hey y’all. I’m here to show you how the West was won_.”

Nina struts into the Werk Room, poses briefly with his hands on his hips before firing a round of bubbles into the air. The first thing he hears is “Bitch!” in Vanjie’s unmistakable voice. After he crosses the floor to meet the other queens, Vanjie is the first one to hug him.

“Yaaas!” Vanjie says with his arms around Nina’s neck. “Come through, girl.”

Nina introduces himself/has a small meltdown over the other queens. Asia O’Hara is perfection on legs, dressed in a very short, sexy caterpillar costume which shouldn’t work but does. Blair St. Clair has ditched the Broadway baby look for full-on seventies supermodel. Nina Bo’nina Brown is padded for the gods and serving  _I Dream of Jeannie_ realness.  She and Vanjie are all over each other; Nina had forgotten how hilarious they are when they’re together. Also there, also sickening, is Shea Coulee (Nina resists the urge to immediately kiss the crown goodbye. This queen, this _fucking_ queen).

The next through the doorway is Laganja Estranja (“Is it four-twenty up in hurrrrrr?” DEATH DROP) who hasn’t changed. At all. Following her is _Ivyyyy Wiiinters_ who is - a lot hotter in person than Nina expected. He knows he should be strategizing already but he’s so overwhelmed and grateful to be back in the game that it’s hard not to feel anything but excited.  

He needs to put himself inside the head of - someone like Brooke. Brooke would have clocked everyone’s weak spots by now, would be thinking about who he’d want on his team and who the first girl home was going to be. Nina - frankly hasn’t got a clue. It won’t be him though, it absolutely cannot be him.

The next queen to enter the room is - oh.  

Lovely.

Miz Cracker.  Fan favourite and smart as hell. Nina smiles at her, hoping that whatever happened at Drag Con was a one-off.  Cracker looks past him like he’s wallpaper, even as she shrieks and laughs and hugs all the others.

Not good, Nina. He can already feel the weight of rejection on his chest. It’s stupid, problematic, and familiar. That need to be liked rises to the surface any time he feels insecure or out of his depth.  Like now. Now is exactly that time, and it’s also the time he should care about making friends the least.

Head in the game, he tells himself. It’s not RuPaul’s best friends race.

There’s only one queen left to arrive.  Nina watches Vanjie watching the doorway, waiting for the last entrance. Nina has a couple predictions in his mind, but nothing he’d feel confident betting money on.

And then -

“Oh bitch.” Vanjie exhales sharply. “ _Fuck_.”

Because Brooke Lynn Hytes has strolled through the door, wrapped in black and red studded straps, reminiscent of his Orange Alert runway and the bondage fantasy from the finale. It’s full on dominatrix mode, right down to the black stilettos and riding crop in his hand. It’s a _look_ and the bitch is turning it, but… God, Nina feels bad for Vanjie. Because apparently, even the happiest exes alive don’t share _everything_.

All the color is gone from Vanessa’s face.

“You didn’t… He didn’t tell me either,” Nina says softly, but he knows it isn’t enough. If this surprise hurts _him_ this badly, he can only imagine what it feels like for Vanessa.

Vanjie shakes his head and studies the floor until Brooke makes his rounds to greet everyone. Brooke embraces Nina tightly (and okay, Nina loves him, is happy to see him) but pauses in front of Vanjie, as if unsure of what to do. Vanjie bristles a little before pulling himself upright and stretching his arms out to Brooke.

_The cameras are on and they are both professionals._

They hug, but Nina can feel the tension between them and wonders if the rest of the queens can as well.

It’s going to be an interesting season for sure.

He doesn’t have time to speak again, however, because the door opens and Ru’s voice rings through the Werk Room. “Hello, hello, hello!”

Everyone cheers, but Nina’s smile feels a bit false.  He’s got to put this whole thing with Brooke and Vanjie to the side; he’s here for _himself,_ not to be a supporting character in their story. Focus, Nina.

“Welcome to All Stars! My darlings!” Ru comes down the stairs, smiling. He’s dressed in a powder blue suit with tiny feathers printed on it and looks exactly like he did when Nina last saw him.

“When I look across this room at all your beautiful and familiar faces, only one word comes to mind: security!”

The camera crew moves in to catch the queens all laughing. It’s kind of scary how quickly you get used to it, the scurrying motion of people and technology like insects. Nina chuckles like he knows he’s supposed to, trying not to look at Brooke and Vanjie out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh.” Ru mimes getting a note in his ear piece. “You’re all supposed to be here?  Even better! To recognize the charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent that got you past the metal detectors, I’m throwing the event of the season and your first maxi challenge: an All Star Talent Show Extravaganza!”

Nina knew this was coming. He’s ready for it.

“But - there’s _one more thing_.”

Nina feels Vanjie reach down and grab his hand, nails digging into his wrist. Ru makes a show of counting the girls up, and Nina’s heart fucking drops.

“Ten queens.  That’s a nice even number, but - as it is All Stars Season five, I think we’ve got room for some more. Oh laaaadiiies!”

One of the side doors opens, and Vanjie starts murmuring, “no no no no,” under his breath. Nina doesn’t even have the time to imagine who might be coming in before - _Chad Michaels_? - steps through the door. He’s not in drag, looking ageless and wiry in a faded t-shirt and jeans.

“Hi Chad!” Ru exclaims, fake-surprised and delighted. “So nice to see you! Did you come alone?”

“Not since the Uber. Oh! You mean -” Chad glances back at the doorway.  “I’m sorry, I tried to lose them.”

“Hiiiiiiiieeeee!” Alaska sticks his head out.

The queens around Nina lose their collective shit, jumping up and down, snapping and cheering.  Alaska is followed by Trixie _fucking_ Mattel (out of drag like the others, looking adorable in a vintage cowboy shirt and bolo tie.  Nina might have tears in his eyes all of a sudden - but look away, it’s fine).

Clearly, the winners of previous seasons are back.  Which means -

Fucking hell, don’t -

_Shit._

Trinity the Tuck comes through - followed by Monet Goddamn X Change.

The room erupts in cheers. Nina immediately glances away, but he’s not fast enough to avoid the fact that Monet looks objectively -

Monet looks -

Great. Obviously. Smiling in his round teal glasses and a sweatshirt covered with roses (Nina always had a weakness for thick-rimmed glasses, it’s his tragic flaw, it doesn’t mean anything). He carefully keeps his focus on Vanessa, makes a ridiculous “O” of surprise with his mouth, instead of risking eye-contact with the handsomest man in the room (who was also probably the best sex Nina’s had in an unfortunate length of time and whose number he never called and -)

_Enough,_ Nina. Do some mindful breathing or something.

Monet and Trinity play up the jealous sibling angle as they cross the floor, holding hands while getting into each other’s space and jostling for attention. They come to stand in a line up beside Ru, who looks them over.

“Y’all look different than I remember. What is it? Oh right, you’re _old_.”

There’s laughter but it’s a bit weak.  Clearly none of the competing girls have any idea what’s going on. Nina doesn’t _think_ Ru would throw five new queens into this season, but - worse things have happened.  And the returning queens aren’t in drag. They look good, though - some of them look _extremely_ good and... probably taste like mint and... Jesus Christ, _get it together_.

“For the first time in All Stars herstory, I thought I’d give you girls a little professional help. ‘Cause from where I’m standing, you _need_ it.” Ru gestures to his returning queens. “Ladies, for this season, each of you will be matched with one of our reigning All Stars. Now, these All Stars are here to act as your mentors _only_ ; they will not be competing for the crown.  And you will still be judged individually, regardless of how your other teammate performs. As always, All Stars rules do apply.”

Okay, okay, this situation is still salvageable. They’re here to act as mentors, Nina can handle that. She’s not going to have to go toe to toe against Monet in some sort of horrifying lip-sync. They aren’t going to be the Branjie of the season, led to the slaughter for ratings, laid bare at the reunion for the entire world to rub salt in the wounds. It’s _okay_.

“However.  Mentors, if one of the queens on your team wins a lip-sync, you will receive a cash tip of five thousand dollars.”

Nina wonders how long is too long to look at Vanjie. It’s probably been too long already - he’ll look at Ru.  There, that’s fine. Just keep your eyes somewhere - safe. And smile. Or don’t smile? What’s the appropriate reaction right now? Nina is missing pieces of this conversation.

“And if a queen from your team is the winner of All Stars Season Five, not only will she win one-hundred thousand _dollahs_ and a spot in the Drag Race Hall of Fame, but _you_ will win a bonus prize of twenty-five thousand dollars. So choose your team wisely - cause some of y’all clearly need the money.” Ru eyes up Chad Michaels, who nods and gestures at his face.

“I won’t say no.  All of this is about to expire.”

“Girl, we can tell,” Trinity shouts over at him.

“Oh, I just love these family get togethers!” Ru laughs and clasps his hands together as he studies them all. “But however shall we pick teams?” He presses a finger to his chin as he pretends to ponder the situation.

Nina’s stomach churns, but - Ru doesn’t _know._  No one _knows_. Unless -

“A draft!” Ru announces gleefully. “That’s something from sports, I think. Nina West, you know about sports right?” Ru makes a broad-shouldered motion with his hands, and Nina smiles tightly.

“Ask me anything at all about locker rooms.”

“Come find me on the break,” Ru says very seriously. “Now, mentors - each of you will get to choose one queen for your team twice. I think it’s only fair to go in order.”

There’s bickering between the mentors - Trinity and Monet are _of course_ pressed that they’ll have last pick - but Trinity eventually relents, after Monet reminds her that age should come before beauty.

Nina steels himself as the draft starts. He’s never been the kid that gets picked first for anything, and it’s hard not to immediately go back to that middle school shame-place that still lives somewhere in his lizard brain. He just hopes he isn’t picked last. And deep, deep down, he kind of hopes that Trixie chooses him. They’re similar, he’s always thought. Campy, musically inclined. He’d love to learn from her, really pick her brain, score a guest appearance on _UNHhhh_ , where he’d sit with her and Katya and they’d all be best friends and - that’s _enough._

Chad makes a show of looking the queens over before he makes his selection and it’s so _obvious_ . “Brooke Lynn Hytes,” he announces with a grin. _Of course_ Brooke’s first.

Brooke claps and smiles, but Nina doesn’t miss the way Vanessa’s eyes roll back in his head. Honestly? He feels kind of the same way.

Alaska chooses Nina Bo’nina which makes total sense. They’re both quirky queens who are all about their brand, and it feels like a good fit.

Trixie’s pick is next.  Nina feels himself straighten involuntarily, but Trixie barely hesitates before she trills, “It’s time for Crack _errrrrr_!” and holds out her arms to the smaller man.

So that’s - that.

There’s the next round, of course, but does Nina really want to be on a team with a queen that hates him for no apparent reason? He sighs, the tension in his shoulders building. It’s going to be Grade Six kickball all over again.

The Tuck chooses Blair (also not surprising).  Then it’s Monet’s turn, and, oh _God_ , he’s looking past Nina, which is… Probably for the best. _Definitely_. Definitely probably for the best.

Then Monet’s eyes narrow behind his glasses.  He crosses his arms over his chest, purses his lips together (and Jesus, what Nina remembers about those lips on his own and wrapped around his - _not the time)_.

“Nina West.”

Nina’s head snaps up. He doesn’t move because - surely this is a joke. But Monet is standing there in front of him, the most neutral expression on his face, watching him.

“That’s you, girl,” Vanjie whispers beside him.

Nina nods. Nods again. He got chosen before _Vanjie?_ In what alternate universe is this All Stars season happening?

He plasters a smile across his lips and walks forward, embraces Monet, plants air kisses on both of his cheeks. (His skin tingles where their faces brush. He should have called. At the very least _texted_.)

The draft starts from the beginning again while Nina awkwardly frets over what to do with his hands. Chad chooses Shea Coulee (clearly), and Alaska chooses Laganja, which is… Well, it’s a _choice_ , certainly, but Nina believes in giving people second (and third and twentieth, most of the time) chances.  Then it’s Trixie Mattel’s turn and she doesn’t pause a second before calling out, “Miss Vaaanjie.”

Nina isn’t jealous. Genuinely, he isn’t.  The look on Vanjie’s face when Trixie calls his name is like the opposite of jealousy. Nina can’t help but glance over at Brooke to see if he notices it too (he does. Nina can tell. Brooke thinks he’s being cool but the way his eyes shift when Vanjie smiles is just - it’s kind of sad. And kind of obvious. And it makes Nina wonder why he ever thought he had a chance with this blonde goddess when - the way Brooke looks at Vanjie is something completely different).

Monet hassles Trinity into letting him pick next and is practically vibrating with excitement over drafting Asia O’Hara for his team. Which leaves Ivy Winters, who does not look pressed at all about being chosen last and bounds over to join Trinity and Blair.

“All right ladies. Now you’ll have time to meet with your mentors and plan your act. And tomorrow night, you’ll perform in front of a full house in my All Star Extravagaaaanza! Gentlemen, start your engines. And may the best All Star… win!”

* * *

“Okay, Team X Change. I’mma call you the X-Queens, what do you think? The Tuck is calling her girls ‘The Holy Trinity,’ and we can do better than that.”

Monet has pulled a chair over to Asia and Nina’s stations, which they’ve set up beside each other. Nina is trying to be the least embarrassing version of himself possible. He might regret bringing bubble guns.

“Obviously, I’m Professor X.” Monet gestures to his bald head. “You can be Storm,” he says to Asia (who seems extremely happy about that, and justifiably so). “And you -” He looks at Nina, who swallows anxiously.

“Wolverine?” he manages, and Monet laughs.

“ _Girl_. Nah, you’re a Jean Grey. Just use those powers for good, okay? Don’t want no Dark Phoenix up in here.” Monet smiles but the smile is a bit forced, charming only on the surface. Underneath it, there’s something else. “So what you all thinking for this challenge? I got money on the line, remember that.”

Cool, flawless, beautiful Asia laughs, but Nina’s laugh doesn’t quite squeak out of his throat.

“I’m just going to lip-sync,” Asia says. “What I do best.”

Monet nods. “Yes, I live. I’ve seen you girl. What about you, Nina West?”

Nina was counting on this challenge coming up at some point in the season. He’s got an idea but - he’s not sure how well received it will be.

“I was thinking of maybe doing... magic?”

Asia stares at him.

“Like last season we did a magic show. And I thought -”

“Like _real_ magic?” Asia asks, dubiously. “With wands and shit?”

“Girl! She’s not a fucking wizard.” Monet laughs. “Well, that sounds - unique. That’s something I want to see. You going to cut someone in half or something?”

“Maybe. Depends if I can find a saw.”

“And we already know you can make yourself disappear, so -” Monet stops. He meets Nina’s eyes with a sudden look of panic - but the look is gone just as quickly.  So quickly Nina thinks maybe he imagined it, because Monet’s smiling widely again, poised and professional. “So we’ve got a plan. Good job team, mentoring done. Cut the cheque!”

They spend a bit of time talking about Asia’s dance number before splitting up so that Nina can practice a couple of the tricks he’s learned since Season 11. He was feeling pretty confident about it initially, but now that he’s surrounded by some of the most talented queens working today, he’s wondering if it’s too little. Or too much?

Fuck it. He puts on shows for a living, it’s what he does.  The judges were in love with his magician character last season.  He just has to build on it. And - no shade, of course - but at least he isn’t lip-syncing and dancing to his own single like ninety percent of the other queens seem to be planning.  A magic show will stand out. In… some kind of way.

They break for lunch a bit later, lining up at the craft services table. Nina checks in with Vanjie and also tries not to ask too many questions about what Trixie Mattel is like _in real life_. He was worried he might start fangirling like an idiot when he saw her, but as soon as they called for a break, Trixie made a very intense sounding call on her cell phone (which apparently the mentors get to keep on them) and disappeared.

“She’s good,” Vanjie tells Nina as they eat some sort of lettuce wraps that keep falling apart in their hands. “Though just you _try_ to get her off her phone.  She on that grind twenty-four seven, maybe. How’s Monet?”

Um. (Really cute. And sweet. And an astonishing kisser, Nina’s feeling a bit dizzy just thinking about it.)

“Great,” he says.

Vanjie gives him a look.

“That sounded fake as hell.” For all that Vanessa is a terrible actor, he’s pretty good at clocking lies in other people. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Nina stammers. “He’s - it’s great.”

“Why you being all weird and shit? You talking ‘bout him like he’s a snack cracker. _It’s great_! _Kids love it!”_ Vanjie does his best cool dad impression, and Nina almost chokes on his wrap.

“Oh my God, please stop with that voice.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this voice, ho. I’m -” But before he can say anything else, Brooke comes into the break room.  Every muscle in Vanjie’s body seems to stiffen. Nina watches it out of the corner of his eye, a slow tightening of Vanjie’s arms, straightening of his back. Defenses going up.

“I - I gotta have words with your girl,” he says softly. “Catch you later.”

Nina watches him cross the floor to Brooke, watches Brooke’s face go through a weird and painful series of expressions as Vanjie gets closer (hopefearlustlonging).

Those two _idiots_ , Nina thinks, and the thought is so loud in his head that it should basically be telepathy (is that a Jean Grey thing? Or is that telekinesis? It’s been years since Nina dug out his old comic books).

As he scans the room, he accidentally makes eye contact with Monet.

Shit. Abort, abort. Look anywhere else. Pretend that you’ve gone blind.

It’s too late, however, because Monet is nodding at him. Smiling. And oh fuck, oh God, he’s coming over.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the wall beside Nina (who has suddenly forgotten how to eat, is just moving his wrap around on his plate as it falls to pieces). “Can’t wait to see your show tomorrow. _Magic!”_

He does an impression of Nina’s ridiculous catchphrase, and Nina laughs awkwardly.  Nina is doing too many things awkwardly right now; _pick another adverb, Mary_.

“Feel good to be back?”

“Still, um, getting used to it. But yes.”  Just fucking say it, just - get it over with before there are cameras on them again. “Listen, about - that night.  The - uh, finale -”

“Girl.” Monet holds up a hand, stopping him from saying anything more. “I get it. I ain’t pressed about it. So just put that outta your head, okay? We’re cool.”

And Nina might be imagining it, but Monet seems - a bit redder than usual. The edge of his cheekbones, the tips of his ears.

Nina looks away.  

“Just you focus on the crown, right?” Monet continues quietly. “It’s yours if you want it. I know what you can do.”

The quietness is - unusual. For him. Nina knows Monet as this commanding presence at the centre of every crowd, able to hold court in a packed bar, able to revive a dying audience with a wave of his hand. The weird fragility is a side Nina hasn’t seen before, and he has no idea what to say in response. Silence stretches between them.

And then Cracker runs across the room and throws herself into Monet’s arms.

“Cracks!” Monet cheers. “How you doing?”

“So much for friendship, dick,” Miz Cracker says with a smile as she hugs Monet. “I thought you’d want me on your team for sure!”

“It ain’t my fault Miss Trixie scooped you up, though I can’t blame her.”

“Well, you should have won an earlier season!” Cracker responds with a smack to Monet’s arm. She glances at Nina, looks him up and down with cold brown eyes. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten - stuck with the questionable choices.”

Nina takes a step away, and then another.  Pulls a Miss Vanjie, walks backwards until he’s not so up in Monet’s personal space, and Cracker’s weird hostility. Neither of them are distractions he can afford right now. Monet said they were cool. So they’re cool, right? And whatever Cracker’s problem is, Nina’s got to put it out of his head.

He tries. As he rehearses his act on the main stage, he tries. But Cracker is there, too, just out of the corner of his eye. Her head is bent low, talking quietly and intensely with Monet, who looks… Annoyed? Maybe? It could be wishful thinking.

That night, he and Brooke eat cold pizza in Nina’s room (the door is open at the P.A.’s insistence, and Nina feels a bit like a teenager, but whatever).

“You should have told him,” Nina says and Brooke doesn’t even have to ask what they’re talking about. He nods.

“I _literally_ couldn’t.” He repeats Nina’s own words back to him. “If he knew - everyone would know. The moment I stepped into the Werk Room. He’s - both of us are - not the greatest actors.”

“Hmm, not the greatest, bit of an overestimation -”

“Fuck off.  You know it’d be obvious as hell. And - I didn’t even think I’d say yes.  I kept thinking - but then after the finale, when they asked -”

“So why did you? Say yes. They’re going to make this the Branjie story again, right? Of course they will. Is that what you want?”

“No. I mean - I don’t know.” Brooke pauses. Sighs. “I guess I just felt like I couldn’t say no. He’s fucking furious, by the way.”

“I’m sure he is.” On some level - Nina gets it. He’s glad Brooke’s got another chance, of course he is. Brooke’s perfection and he deserves it. But it’s hard for Nina not to feel like he doesn’t stand a chance with Brooke in the mix. Brooke _almost_ won last time. That last lip sync was so close, it could have been either of them. (Nina might have a theory as to why it _wasn’t_ Brooke, and the fact that Brooke’s sitting across from him in the hotel with Vanessa a few doors down is doing a lot to confirm it.)

“So you said yes because you felt like you had to,” Nina says slowly, “but you already knew Vanjie was coming. You knew I was coming.” (Though Nina doubts that would have affected Brooke’s decision at all.) “Why didn’t you tell them you’d come for the next season?”

Brooke tosses his pizza crust onto the paper plate on the bed and shrugs. “You never know if you’re going to get next season. If I’d said no, they could have written me off, or—”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. You’re golden. They _love_ you.” He normally isn’t this firm, not with Brooke, but Brooke also isn’t usually this avoidant of the truth. And Nina _knows_ he isn’t getting the truth from the man sitting across from him. It bothers him. He’s good at reading people, _great_ at reading Brooke after a decade-long friendship, but there’s been a boundary up ever since the season ended. Really - ever since he broke things off with Vanjie.

Nina might have been too firm, because Brooke lowers his eyes and shrugs. Starts to shut down. So Nina tries a softer approach.

“Why are you really here, Brooke?”

“Maybe - I’m just tired of always being the first runner-up. Never being _enough,_ ” Brooke finally says, and there’s pain there; a real, raw ache that is palpable from the timbre of his voice. “I won Continental and then…” He shakes his head. “First runner up. _Always_. Almost, but never _quite_ \- I just… I thought maybe on All Stars I could…” Brooke meets Nina’s eyes again, gives him a self-deprecating smile. “Show them I’m enough.”

For God’s sake. Nina hugs him, pulls him tight to his chest. “You’ve always been enough for me.”

“Thanks.” Brooke sniffles.

“But, and I need you to hear me very clearly,” Nina says, “even though I love you, you’re going to have to work, bitch.  Because I fully plan on sending your ass back to Canada the first chance I get.”

Brooke throws back his head and laughs. “Just try it, bitch.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than try. I’m taking the crown this season.”

“Not so congenial anymore.” Brooke is still laughing, so Nina laughs too. And just for a moment, with the cold pizza and laughter between them, he could almost forget that they’re back at _Drag Race_ , back in the (second) most important competition of both of their lives.

That night, when Nina lies in bed with his headphones in - listening to the potential lip-sync song for the next day, _not_ that he’s counting his chickens or anything - he feels like maybe he can do this. Maybe he should be here, even in the presence of all this greatness. Even if - even around - someone like Monet.

(“ _If I’m shining everybody gonna shine_ ,” Lizzo sings in his ear, and Nina closes his eyes tight. Hopes that he can be shiny enough to stay.)

* * *

 The mentors aren’t in the Werk Room the next day, but they’re going to be in the audience at the show. That’s - maybe for the best. For all that he tells himself to focus, Nina is still acutely aware of where Monet is in the room, and it’s - unsettling.  He doesn’t need that weird sixth sense distracting him right now. (He’s pretty sure that _isn’t_ a Jean Grey thing.)

He paints in the mirror between Asia and Brooke, only half listening as Laganja and Vanjie’s conversation gradually gets louder and more snarly. There’s something off about Vanessa today. It’s clearly nerves and Nina kind of wishes he could go over there and hug him, but he’s not going to step between Vanjie and Laganja and risk getting an acrylic to the eye.

Nina takes in a few deep breaths, blocks them out, focuses on blending his eyeshadow. Purples into pinks. Pinks into whites. Black liner wings. Thick. Thicker. Thickest.

Then it’s frighteningly quiet all of a sudden, and Brooke is gone from his side.

He shifts his focus in the mirror and sees Brooke holding tightly to Vanessa’s shoulders, speaking quiet words to him. And while Vanjie still looks pressed, still shoots death glares across the room where Laganja has stormed away (and is, naturally, still talking), he isn’t vibrating with rage anymore.

“So use it,” he hears Brooke say softly. “Channel it. _Win_.”

And Vanjie nods, shrugs out of the hug Brooke tries to pull him into, and walks straight out of the Werk Room.

Brooke returns to the mirror at Nina’s side and heaves a long sigh.

“All good?” Nina asks, gluing on his lashes.

“Sure,” Brooke says with a smile that seems a little forced. “All good.”

When they’re finished painting, the P.A.s come by to grab them, take them to the main stage. Nina is the ninth act up, and so he gets to sit with the audience in the  meantime. The mentors are there as well, in full awards-show drag, and it - only knocks him one step backwards when he sees Monet in black sequins. Sheer panels down each side. Purple lipstick.

“Hello, my X-Queens.” Monet smiles broadly as Nina and Asia walk past to find their seats. “Asia, look at you girl! Stunning. And Miss Nina West -”

Nina flinches a bit, not knowing what to expect.  He’s going for campy, not glamorous, and compared to Asia - or Monet - well, there’s no comparison. None.

“Gorgeous,” Monet says simply, smile turning soft.

Nina swallows. “You too,” he chokes out through a throat that is suddenly completely dry, the Sahara Desert.  He sounds more like Harvey Fierstein than he did during Snatch Game.

Abort, abort. Nina gets away as fast as he can, grabs an empty seat without really caring if it’s his.

“You okay?” Asia asks him, and Nina nods, doesn’t dare try to speak again. He’ll grab some water before his act.

A second later, Vanessa slams into the seat beside Nina, legs folded and arms crossed. Nina gives him an anxious look and decides to risk it.

“What’s going on with you and Laganja?”

Vanjie just blinks his eyelashes.

“Bitch is just running her mouth about shit that don’t concern her, like who gets to come back and when. Shit like that.”

“Oh.” Nina thinks back to Brooke’s hands on Vanjie’s shoulders, voice quiet and intent. “Are you all right?”

He hears Vanjie take a deep breath. Sees his chest rise and fall in his peripheral vision.

“I’m gonna use it.” He casts a pressed look over at Nina, pursing his lips. “But don’t tell that blonde bitch I said any of this.”

_Which one?_ Nina wants to ask. _Brooke or Laganja?_

“Never,” Nina swears, and then the rest of the queens file in beside them and the show begins.

Blair St. Clair is up first, singing. She struts slowly toward the standing microphone in the middle of the stage, dressed like a sixties songstress. As the torch-song instrumental track kicks in, Blair looks up and catches Nina’s eye.  

And starts to sing:

_“This is awwwwkward._

_He’s seen you naked, now you’re on TV._

_I’m pretty sure the other queens can see_

_How obvious you’re being,_

_Nina…”_

 

Nina - cannot be hearing this right. He looks at Asia and Vanjie beside him, but neither one of them seem to think anything is weird about Blair’s song.

 

_“This is awwwwkward._

_You have to work together on this show_

_Now it’s a countdown ‘til the judges know_

_That you got drunk and made it awkward…”_

 

Someone has turned on a disco ball, and the stage is covered with spinning flecks of mirrored light. The music picks up, beat growing harder.

 

_“You can’t blame tequila for this._

_Blame it all on a kiss._

_Blame the night, the mood_

_The way you were feeling...._

_You can’t say it was a mistake_

_'Cause girl I see your hand shake_

_When you push it down inside you_

_Though you try you cannot fight the -”_

 

At this point, Blair stretches out her arm, fully pointing at Nina in the crowd, while she takes the melody up an octave.

 

_“Awwwwkward_

_You thought you left it in the past somewhere_

_But good God girl don’t let him see you stare_

_Nina West, I swear_

_You’ll make it awwwkward…”_

 

People are clapping, but Nina hears it coming from another room, as if there are walls between him and the rest of the audience. That couldn’t have been - that wasn’t -

“She kinda all over the place, huh?” Asia whispers to him

Nina has momentarily forgotten how to speak. He tries to clear his throat.

“What was… Um. Her song was called what again?”

Asia laughs. “Girl, I don’t even know. ‘Heathered’ or ‘Flickered.’ Some shit like that. Why, you wanna buy it on iTunes?”

“Not, um. Not ‘Awkward’?” Because he _knows_ what he heard. A song directed right at him. Because his instincts were right and _everyone_ knows what happened the night of the finale.

“No.” Asia narrows her eyes. “Though that _could_ probably be a song about her career since Season Ten. Oh, bitch -  ‘Ganja’s act’s up.”

It’s… An act. It’s supposed to be some kind of lyrical dance piece, and Nina knows that Laganja is an incredible dancer, but this is… Well. Not great, to be honest. It’s an excellent distraction from his incoming panic attack, and Nina almost sighs in relief. He can at least do better than this number, if nothing else.

Nina Bo’nina Brown shocks the hell out of everyone when she produces a silver flute from underneath a caftan and skillfully plays a rendition of _Sissy That Walk_. Ru looks impressed, if maybe a little bored. Nina tries not to bite off his acrylics.

The real wildcard is Ivy because _everyone_ remembers her stilts and _everyone_ remembers her voice, and if it were Nina, he’d sing an aria while parading around on stilts because hey. Work what you’ve got.

But instead they cut almost all the lights, and Ivy performs a shadow puppetry show full of jokes that Nina’s sure he could process if only he wasn’t so damn nervous.

Shea lip-syncs, and fucking slays it just like Nina knew she would. There are three reveals, if he’s counting right. Vanjie’s fingers have gradually tightened around Nina’s wrist, and by the time Shea’s act is over and Vanessa is up, Nina’s fairly certain he has bruises.

Vanjie stands, straightens his silver beaded gown, and sucks in a deep breath. Then Brooke leans forward and fixes a strand of fringe that’s snagged on Vanessa’s pantyhose. Vanjie jerks away like he’s been scalded.

“Break a leg,” Brooke says softly, trying his hardest not to look hurt by the reaction.

Vanjie nods and sets his jaw before marching backstage.

Nina shakes his head, focuses on his own routine instead of the drama playing out in front of him.

Whatever’s happening between Vanessa and Laganja, whatever’s happening between him and Brooke, Vanjie absolutely _channels_ it. Nina can’t remember how many times he’s seen Vanjie perform, but this is unparalleled. It’s like lightning set loose on the stage. He’s a whirlwind of silver beads, white feathers, peach hair, spinning-melding-mixing to the throbbing bass of a Lorde song Nina’s heard but can’t place. Despite his nerves, Nina can’t turn away. Behind him, Brooke is steadily tearing his copy of the lineup into confetti.

That’s a legitimate fucking All Star.

Asia dances the house down, then Miz Cracker has Ru and Michelle hanging onto each other and crying from her standup. Whatever weirdness is going on between Nina and Cracker is beside the point. The bitch is _hilarious_ and that could be a problem for him.

He knows there are acting challenges to come (All Stars is infamous for them), and it would be nice to have Cracker on his side. Whatever this rift is, he needs to mend it and quickly.

So when Cracker comes off stage, Nina reaches for her hand and congratulates her. “You were great!” he says with enthusiasm.

Cracker gives him a terse smile, flips her hair, and takes her seat next to Blair. Nina guesses a terse smile is better than a look of pure vitriol. _Progress. Progress is good._

Blair… Blair’s been crying quietly ever since she came off stage. Apparently she’s very upset with her number. To be honest, Nina’s pretty upset with her number also. He _knows_ what he heard. What he can’t figure out is why no one else seems at all shocked about it.  (Okay, so maybe Nina _might_ be hallucinating.  What’s a bit of light hallucination between friends?)

A couple of P.A.s set up Nina’s props for him while the cameras are resetting. He feels himself spiraling, but shakes his head, refusing to be rattled. He tries to focus on his character, on the challenge that he’s about to fucking slay. He tries to focus on the crown.

But as he walks out onto the stage, blinking at first against the lights, the only thing he can see is the corner of Monet’s mouth, lips curling as he says “Gorgeous,” eyes warm and intent like - like he _means_ it (which he doesn’t, which he can’t, which -)

“Ladies and gentlemen and gentlemen and ladies and gentlemen!” Nina greets the audience.  

He takes a breath -

\- and by the time he exhales the act is over. He’s walking off stage, hands trembling with adrenaline.  

They laughed, right? He’s pretty sure they laughed. Did Ru laugh? He might have. Nina can’t remember most of it.

As he moves on autopilot back to his seat, some of the other queens congratulate him.  It couldn’t have been a complete disaster then? He catches Monet’s eye, and Monet smiles. (Nina feels that smile like electricity, running through his nervous system and lighting it up like a Christmas tree.)

_Stop it._

Vanjie squeezes his arm when he sits back down. He’s _beaming_.

“Bitch, it’s over.  That’s the show, sis. Cut the cheque.”

“I - really? Thank you, I mean.  Really?”

“Don’t be all modest and shit, you must’ve heard the judges laughing. Thought Ru was gonna die, I’m serious. Trixie probably already dialing 9-1-1. Bitch is on that phone enough.”

Nina has no idea what Vanjie’s talking about, but he hopes to God it’s true.  Especially because Brooke’s up next, the final act of the evening. (In all honesty, the one that everyone has probably been waiting for.)

The Canadian has gone full Black Swan for this performance, right down to the black feathered pointe shoes and jagged wings that look like they’re protruding out of his skin. As Brooke starts to dance, Nina hears Vanjie swallow.  

Sees him look away, turn his head slightly to the left (it’s like the sun, maybe. You’re not supposed to look at it directly or it will blind you).

Brooke’s beautiful and vicious and fatal on stage, and Nina’s pretty sure Vanjie is holding his breath. His hands are clenched together in his lap, knuckles turning white. Nina still feels the ache of Brooke’s beauty sometimes. It comes and goes, especially when he’s been drinking.  He imagines that it always will.

He reaches out, puts his hand over top of Vanjie’s. Vanjie flinches in surprise. Then he lets out a quiet breath, and Brooke finishes his routine, falling gracefully to his knees.

Perfect. Flawless. Everyone else here is completely fucked.

“Meh,” Nina whispers in Vanjie’s ear, maybe to reassure himself just as much as Vanessa. _Maybe_.

But it makes Vanjie laugh just the tiniest bit, and it settles Nina’s stomach, and it’s the least he can do for now.

* * *

He’s lost track of how long they’ve been standing on the runway, but he knows his feet are numb, and he doesn’t think Monet has blinked once. He’s just… looking at him.  At all the queens, probably. Clearly.

Shea, Ivy, Asia, and Miz Cracker are all declared safe and sent back to the Werk Room.  Nina’s heart sinks a little. He wanted to think he was in the top if Vanjie’s glowing comments meant anything, but he isn’t sure he was better than Cracker.  That’s terrifying because if she’s safe that means Nina’s… potentially… _not._

But there’s Monet again, smiling at him from the audience. Nina takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the critiques.

“Ladies,” Ru says. “You represent the tops and the bottoms of the week. Now for the judges’ critiques. We’ll start with Nina Bo’nina Brown.”

Michelle says it fell flat. Ru says it _was_ flat. Ross loves everybody and finds the silver lining (literally - Nina’s wearing a pink gown with silver lining). Either way, they aren’t impressed. Nina West relaxes a little.

They _gush_ over Vanessa, and they should. Ross says it’s some of the best work he’s ever seen from him. Ru agrees. Michelle says she’s just so happy to see a dress and not a bikini and cape. And, oh yeah, she tacks on, the dancing wasn’t bad either. Passionate, fiery. This is the Vanjie they wanted all last season and didn’t quite get. (To Nina’s left, Brooke ducks his head, accepts the blame silently.)

Laganja’s critique is the opposite of Vanjie’s. The judges are confused to put it lightly… Offended if they’re being honest. And _of course_ Laganja can’t keep her mouth shut.

“I guess I just don’t understand why _some people_ are getting third and fourth and fifth chances while the rest of us are up here working our asses off--”

“Ain’t none of us getting fourth chances, Mary,” Vanjie interjects, and Nina prays he keeps his cool because after a critique like his, the challenge is as good as won.

“I’m just saying that this is your third season in a row, and it might be oversaturation.” Laganja shrugs.

“That’s a big word,” Vanessa retorts. “Where’d you learn that word?”

“Vanj…” Brooke says quietly, which is maybe the worst possible thing that can happen.

“Don’t.” Vanessa’s voice is low, threatening. “I need you to not talk to me right now.”

Brooke physically wilts, collapses in on himself. Nina focuses on the spot on the wall just above Michelle’s head.

“Moving on,” Ru says and diplomatically ends the conversation. “Nina West!”

“So glad to have you back, Nina.” Michelle smiles (she smiles!) “You are still a delight.”

Nina could melt into the stage. Could just become a puddle of vaguely Nina-shaped goo and it would be okay because Michelle is beaming at him, praising him for his newly acquired magic skills, and Ru is nodding along.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in _years_ ,” Ru admits. “You really can tell that you’ve taken our critiques from last season and applied them. It absolutely shows.”

Ross also has kind words (when doesn’t he?), but Nina’s lost in the high of hearing Michelle and Ru praise him, lost in the feeling of success.

They move on to Brooke, whose black eyeliner has run just a little.  You could hardly tell from the way he’s holding himself upright, one leg behind the other, perfectly poised. Perfectly Brooke. Perfectly _perfect_. With the exception of that one streak of eyeliner, a single tear track down his face that he quickly wipes away.

The judges don’t seem to notice, praise instead his going out of his comfort zone, the grittier performance of his Black Swan instead of the grace he was known for on Season 11. Nina guesses they’re right; Brooke seemed to let go on stage, throw himself more into the performance. It was still flawless, every move calculated and textbook, but there was more emotion behind those grey eyes today than Nina thinks he’s ever seen from Brooke on stage.

Brooke thanks them, bows his head demurely, clasps his hands in front of his body.

Then they come to Blair.

“Oh, Blair.” Michelle shakes her head. “It was just a mess.”

Blair nods. Blair nods through most of it. Nina tries to listen, but still can’t reconcile the fact that apparently the entire room heard something completely different than what he did.

“I know I let you all down,” Blair says through tears. “And I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll do better.”

Ru smiles, but it’s tense and forced. “Based on the judges’ critiques,” he says, looking up and down the line, “I’ve made some decisions.”

Nina’s heart is in his throat. He can’t breathe, can’t focus, can’t keep himself upright.

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, Nina West: you are the top two All Stars of the week.”

Nina’s heart bursts. Actual sparks are shooting from his chest (okay, not _actual,_ but you couldn’t prove it by the warmth that radiates through him). He ventures a look out towards the mentors and sees Trixie and Monet on their feet high-fiving each other. And Monet’s looking at him and smiling, smiling, _smiling_.

Down the line, Vanessa is laughing. His hands are clasped together in front of his chest and his head is thrown back like he’s praying, but he’s _laughing_.

“You’ve each won a seven-night stay at the Atlantis Hotel in Nassau Paradise Beach, Bahamas,” Ru says, and Nina almost faints. “Nina Bo’nina Brown, Brooke Lynn Hytes: you are both safe.”

Nina hears Brooke exhale before he lifts his head and smiles up at the judges.

“That means Laganja Estranja and Blair St. Clair: I’m sorry, but you are in the bottom two.”

Blair cries even harder, and Nina kind of wants to hug her.

“Vanjie and Nina,” Ru continues, and _oh shit_ , Nina might have forgotten this part of winning in All Stars. “Each of you needs to decide which one of the bottom two you will eliminate _if_ you win the lip-sync.”

Nina’s heart is in his throat. He’s got to send one of his sisters home.

“While you deliberate backstage, the judges and I will... perform trust falls.”

It gets a laugh, but when they all file into the backstage lounge, Nina realizes he’s shaking. A couple of the girls grab cocktails (not Vanjie or Brooke) but Nina doesn’t need anything affecting his focus right now.  He feels simultaneously sick and elated. Also a bit worried this might all be the result of a head injury or something. Maybe he tripped and fell on the very first day, and everything from then on has just been in his mind. It would explain whatever the hell happened with Blair’s performance.

“Congrats Top Two!” Asia raises her glass at Nina. “X-Queens represent.  How you feel girls?”

The producers have been very clear that they’re supposed to talk this whole thing over, but Nina is having trouble finding the words.  Vanjie’s quiet too, and he catches Nina’s eye from across the room, gives him a small smile.

“It’s good, you know. First challenge win, right. It’s gotta feel good.”

Brooke’s watching him, silent, with eyes that are so soft.

“Congratulations Vanjie,” Nina says the thing that Brooke would clearly say if his nerves would let him. “You deserve it.”

“So how are you going to decide?” Nina Bo’nina asks. “Every year they ask that, you gonna follow some rules or -”

“Hell no.” Vanjie cuts her off. “I don’t think that’s somethin’ that works out. You gotta listen to the judges but also - listen to yourself, right? I ain’t gonna just lay it all out now -”

“So I guess that means I’m fucking going home.” Laganja’s voice is shrill and sudden, and she stomps away from the group, heading towards the mirrors.

“No,” Vanessa calls after her. “I ain’t saying that, bitch.  Listen -”

“Well you’ve already made your mind up!” Laganja shouts back. “So fuck me, right?”

Nina wants to make himself as small as possible. He knows that his eyes are probably wide, and his smile is probably crooked.

“No one is saying that, Laganja!” Shea doesn’t turn her head, but says it loud enough to be heard across the room.

“Yeah fucking right!” Laganja screams back, and Nina is - above all, a ‘nice’ person, and he’s not going to keep a conversation going like this, so -

He takes a deep breath and crosses the room to go talk to her.

They end up sitting in a corner somewhere that a P.A. has set up big velveteen chairs specifically for the purposes of these conversations. Laganja isn’t crying but her eyes are watery, and Nina can’t help but feel sympathy.

“Listen,” he says, because that is a respectable way to start a conversation. “I think you’re a great performer, I think you deserve to be here.”

Laganja sniffles miserably.

“We don’t have to talk about anything, but I wanted to - if you wanted to - give you a chance -” To what, Nina? “State your case. Or make an argument. Whatever you like.”

Laganja looks up at her.

“Or we can just sit in awkward silence, that’s fine too,” Nina says with a shrug. “I _did_ attend a lot of waspy family dinners in the Midwest.  At this point, I have a PhD in awkward silences.”

Laganja - actually smiles at this.  Then she sighs.

“It’s sweet that you think you’re going to win.”

Oh.

Okay.

After that, the conversation dies a pretty natural death. Nina doesn’t know what else to say. She wishes Laganja luck, and then Laganja straight up refuses to talk to Vanjie.  Fine. She’s making her choices.

Blair cries through most of her time with Nina (which is too bad because Nina is trying to figure out the least alarming way of asking her what the hell she sang about).  Nina doesn’t know if Vanjie talks to Blair, but - really, it probably doesn’t matter. Maybe Laganja will be ready for a later season of All Stars (hopefully her edit will be kind) but she’s clearly not there yet. Even though she was kind of the worst, Nina almost feels bad for her. She’s talented, she just needs to get out of her own way.

They film him and Vanjie as they pick out their lipsticks. Nina plays up the conflict, but he can’t imagine it’s a huge choice for either of them. He smiles at Vanjie, squeezes his hand as they prepare to go back on stage with the rest of the queens.

The lights feel brighter than they were before.  Nina hasn't been this nervous since the last time he stood on stage waiting to lip-sync against Silky.  It doesn't make any sense when he thinks about it, because the stakes were so much higher that time. He knows he's safe this time around, knows he's coming back for another week regardless of how this whole thing with Vanjie plays out. The $10,000 would be nice, but is it worth it to have to send someone home Week One?

_Fuck it._ He wants the validation. Wants to prove that he _is_ a good lip-syncer. Wants to shove aside all the shame that still burns hot in his belly when he thinks about giving his everything to stay on this stage and having it not be enough.

Production stops him and Vanjie just behind the stage and lets the other girls get into position before they walk onto the runway. Vanessa takes the opportunity to turn to Nina and pull him into a hug.

“However this goes, girl,” he says into Nina's shoulder, “there ain’t no one else I’d have wanted to share this win with.”

“Same.” Nina breathes a shaky sigh into Vanessa's hair.

Then production waves them in and they walk down the runway side-by-side. Nina blocks everything else out, tries not to see the other girls (especially Laganja and Blair, who stand to the right of the stage, barely visible in the lighting.) Nina doesn't risk a glance at the mentors.  He can’t handle seeing Monet and that perfect Goddamn smile right now.

Nina holds his head up high, focuses on Ru, runs the lyrics over and over in his head.

“Welcome back, ladies,” Ru says quietly. His entire demeanor is different now that it's time to send the first queen home. “Two top All Stars stand before me. Ladies, this is your chance to impress me, win ten thousand dollars, and earn the power to give one of the bottom queens the chop. The time has come for you to lip-sync for your legacy. Good luck, and don't fuck it up.”

The lights flash (Nina knows they will make this look far more dramatic on TV than it does on the stage, but it doesn't help settle his stomach any) and the feel-good, pop beat of Lizzo's “Juice” blares through the speakers.

Nina – goes insular. Doesn't focus on Vanjie, doesn't focus on anything other than the words of the song, the rhythm, the moves he's making. Spin here. Dip there. Prance across the stage and pose. Hip rolls.

He couldn't tell you what Vanessa's doing, not until they reach the bridge, when Vanjie grabs his shoulder and points at the back of the stage to Brooke Lynn.

It takes a minute, then Nina realizes what part of the song they're on.

 

“ _Somebody come get this man_

_I think he got lost in my DMs, what? My DMs, what?_

_You better come get your man_

_I think he wanna be way more than friends, what?_

_More than friends_

_What you want me to say?”_

 

Nina shrugs, so Vanjie waves him off and they finish the song together, egging each other on through the last chorus until Vanessa ends with a triumphant death drop.

RuPaul, Michelle, and Ross are clapping and laughing, and it's the exact opposite of the “meh” Nina got the last time he finished a lip-sync. He feels like he could fly. The mentors are on their feet, applauding, and there in the center is Monet, nodding and looking at him with eyes that are far too beautiful and soft.

Nina makes himself look away, looks at Ru, at the judges’ panel.  There's a brief camera break while production hands back their lipsticks and they secure them deep in their outfits. Vanessa opts for his bra; Nina goes with the sleeve of his leotard.

Once Ru is given the cue, he clears his throat. He looks them both over for a moment. And then:

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, you're a winner, baby. You've earned a cash tip of ten thousand dollars. That means Trixie Mattel – you are also a winner, baby.”

“Oh, yay!” Trixie yelps from the mentors' seats in the audience.

“You've won a cash tip of five thousand dollars.”

Vanjie's doing that clasped-hand-prayer thing again, so Nina immediately walks over and hugs him. (He's a hugger, even if Vanjie isn't. Vanjie might be. Nina isn't sure. Today, it would appear, they all are.)

It's _okay_ that he lost, Nina tells himself. There will be more lip-syncs, and he's safe for another week. So he didn't win ten thousand dollars, so what? He's going to the Bahamas! And he doesn't have to make an enemy yet. Everyone knows how that worked out for Shangela...

“Nina West,” Ru says, glancing at him, “you are safe. You may join the other girls.”

Nina pulls away from Vanjie, squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, and takes his place beside Brooke.

“Congrats,” Brooke whispers, reaching for his hand. Nina just nods in acknowledgement. His head is still spinning too quickly for him to think clearly.

“Will the bottom two queens please step forward?” Ru asks.

There's a pause and the room goes deathly quiet as Blair and Laganja walk to the center of the stage, grasping hands. Blair has cried almost all of her makeup off. Nina's heart aches for her. If she stays, Blair is the next person Nina's going to hug. He’s drafting a list.

Ru shifts in her chair. “Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, with great power comes great responsibility.  Which queen have you chosen to get the chop?”

Vanjie swallows hard, takes a deep breath, steels himself. “I just wanna say that the person I chose is fierce as fuck.  I was so excited to see her back in the Werk Room because I think she didn't get a real good shot last time. I wanted to give you another chance, I really did, but you still letting your personal opinions about people and things get in the way and there ain't room for that on All Stars.” Vanessa reaches into his bra and pulls out his lipstick. “So I'm sorry, but I gotta send you home, Laganja.”

Laganja just nods, tilts her head with a bit of a wry smile. (She did know it was coming, even after everything they did to assuage her fears. But Laganja's always been a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy.) She turns to Blair, gives her a quick hug, and then Blair practically runs to the back of the stage.

Nina opens his arms immediately, and Blair practically melts into him. He cradles her head, wipes the runny mascara from beneath her eyes.

“You’re still here. It’s okay.” If he’s got to be the mom of this season, so be it.

“Laganja Estranja,” RuPaul says, “as it is written, so it shall be done. You are and will always be an All Star. Now, sashay away.”

“Thank you so much,” Laganja says. Then she presses her forefinger and thumb together, brings them to her lips, and mimes taking a long drag from a joint. “It's always four-twenty when 'Ganja's in the house, okurrrrrr?”

They clap and bid Laganja farewell (Shea rolls her eyes a bit, but not in a super obvious way).  Nina feels himself relax for the first time all day.

“Con-drag-ulations, All Stars,” RuPaul says to them with a broad smile. “And remember, if you can't love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else, can I get an amen up in here?”

“Amen!” the queens chorus in unison.  Nina takes Blair's hand and leads her back onto the runway as “Kitty Girl” plays over the speakers and the mentors join them on stage.

Trixie and Brooke both head straight for Vanjie, but Trixie wins the race.  She embraces Vanessa, begins a slow, hilarious two-step that doesn't match the music at all, but makes them all laugh.

Then there's a tap on Nina's shoulder and Monet is standing behind him.  It catches Nina by surprise because he _smells the same_. Like mint toothpaste and sandalwood and hairspray.

Monet doesn't speak, doesn't have to. He just hugs Nina.

And Nina swallows down the stupid, pointless ache in his heart, and lets him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will be uploading an audio file of Blair's song on our Tumblrs SOON. Mia has been writing incredible original music for the story and we're excited to start sharing it with you.


	4. never looked at me this way before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Nina and Vanjie ended up in the top, with Vanjie taking the first win of AS5.
> 
> To Come: in which Nina learns a secret, shares a secret, and has a realization. 
> 
> (This chapter was pushing 12k, so we decided to split it so we can get out an update without having to condense words as we finish up the second half of the chapter. As it is, this is almost 9k. Please enjoy and let us know what you think!)

Nina wakes up and is still on _Drag Race_. 

It is an ungodly hour and he barely remembers his head hitting the pillow; they filmed a bunch of talking head interviews after the runway, and wrote letters for Laganja, and de-dragged and ate what little takeout they could stomach at one a.m. It’s only two days in and he feels the exhaustion in his bones, but Good God Girl is he happy that he survived the first elimination. Not only survived, but was in the top two. Got to dance it out against Vanjie, got to watch Monet in the audience, smiling all white and shiny like some sort of monster (he’s got to know the effect he has, right? Has to know).

Nina forces himself out of bed with a not entirely silent groan, tries to immerse himself in his Disney princess fantasy where little bluebirds are singing to him, fluttering around helping him get ready, bringing him his towel and razor and - actually, bluebirds armed with razor blades might not be exactly Disney’s brand. He can workshop that bit.

He showers, shaves, tries to dress quickly. He wanted his Werk Room aesthetic to be a bit less “quirky elementary school teacher” this season, but when he looks over his choice of boy clothes, he realizes that that just might be his actual aesthetic - on TV or off. Damn. Well, whatever. He’ll never be Vanjie, fashion-wise, but at least he’s not Brooke.

Nina gathers his things in a hurry because he wants to get downstairs for breakfast before the rest of the girls invade. It (probably) has nothing to do with the fact that the mentors meet fifteen minutes before the contestants come down to get their briefing for the day’s challenges. He’s (probably) not trying to run into Monet. 

 Things are decidedly less awkward after they hugged it out on the runway and even danced a little. Monet had his hands on Nina’s hips for a moment there, said how _proud_ of him he was (and damn it, that lights something up in Nina that he doesn’t want to look at too closely). Even though he hadn’t won the lip-sync, even though Vanjie essentially wiped the stage with him, Monet was _proud_.  Happy he’d chosen Nina to be an X-Queen.  

Something dangerous could be brewing if Nina were going downstairs early just because he wanted to bump into Monet this morning, try to make him laugh because that smile is just - something else, or find out how he takes his coffee or -

But Nina isn’t. So it’s fine. Everything’s fine. 

Just peachy.

Nina bounces on his toes as he presses the call button for the elevator and waits. He feels good, more relaxed. Getting past the first episode is hardest; no one wants to be the first one out (unless you’re Vanessa, then you take that shit and run with it). And he has a trip to the Bahamas under his belt. That’s something to look forward to. He’ll take his drag mother, maybe; it’s not like they’ll let him substitute the dogs for a Plus One. 

The elevator dings and Nina, still lost in thoughts of sandy beaches and the hot sun on his shoulders, takes a second to recognize the couple wrapped around each other in the back corner.  Probably wouldn’t have recognized them at all, given how smashed together they are - a gasping, moaning, many-limbed organism - except for the fact that they immediately pull away from each other, looking wide-eyed with panic at the elevator doors.

“Oh.” Nina tries his best to maintain a neutral expression as he gets into the elevator and turns conspicuously around. “So I guess you guys are speaking again.”

Brooke and Vanjie are silent behind him.  Nina counts down the floors. After all that weirdness yesterday, they’ve apparently - worked things out. Or something. Nina is not in the headspace to think about it right now.

Eventually Brooke clears his throat, says “Good morning,” like he’s Nina’s manager at work or something. 

“Yep, hi, good -” Nina says, just as the elevator lands on the ground floor with a thump.  Nina steps out without waiting for the two of them (because he has first-hand knowledge of being mortified in elevators and knows that the last thing you want is company) and walks briskly to the conference room. 

The mentors are just finishing their meeting and starting breakfast. Production thinks it’s fair to let them have meals together, but the P.A.s are never far away, making sure none of the competitors get an unfair advantage from too much early information.

Trixie’s tapping away at her cell phone with one hand and shoveling cereal into her mouth with the other. Vanjie hadn’t been kidding when he said Trixie was always on the grind. Nina’s half impressed by her dedication to be working at 7:30 in the morning and half - concerned? Maybe he’s glad Trixie passed him over during the draft.

Monet is staring down a plate of pancakes, but he looks up and smiles when Nina comes into the room.

“Bubble Guns!” Monet calls, and Nina can only _assume_ he’s being summoned. (Because, logically, no one else carried bubble guns into the Werk Room during their entrance. And, logically, who else would Monet be talking to? Nina’s the first to arrive other than the mentors and the crew.) “See hos, this is what a winner looks like. You all might wanna have a word with your girls about it.”

“I think my girls are good, thanks,” Trixie says deadpan, without looking up from her phone. There is a crease between her eyebrows and - now that Nina really sees her, she looks extremely tired. 

“Bubble Guns?” Nina asks because he can’t _not_ mention that. 

“Just trying it out. Officially you’re still Jean Grey, this is more like a pet name. Like honey or snookums. You like it?”

“Nope,” Nina says quickly, and Monet laughs.  Nina files that laugh away for when he needs it. There’s something about the low husk of Monet’s voice that makes him get all - distracted. Yeah, let’s go with distracted. And that’s the last thing he can afford to be right now, but sometimes it’s easy to forget -

His attention shifts as Brooke comes into the conference room, followed by Vanjie thirty seconds later. Vanjie’s mouth is swollen, and Brooke’s neck is red and blotchy from beard-burn.  It all seems incredibly, stupidly obvious to Nina but then, he’s working with some additional information. Anyway, he notices. 

And Monet notices him noticing.

“I’ll see you and Asia in the Werk Room, yeah?” The laughter is gone from Monet’s mouth, he’s suddenly all business. “Go get some food in you.”

“Right.”

Nina Bo’nina and Shea have come in, and Vanjie makes a beeline to them, voice getting immediately louder and growlier. Nina grabs some toast and finds a seat off in the corner where Brooke is alone, drinking coffee and eating nothing. He gives Nina a cautious smile as he sits down across from him.

“Sooo…” Nina starts around a mouthful of toast, and Brooke’s face goes stoney.

“Yes?”

“Just um, wondering. What’s going on.”

“Nothing.” But contrary to his words, Brooke’s eyes immediately clock Vanjie’s laugh across the room. He seems to realize what he’s doing, and decides to stare at his coffee instead. “It’s - nothing. We talked last night and - you know, things just happened.”

Things just happened. Right. Thoughts are running through Nina’s head - and some of them are probably unfair. His first helpless reaction is judgement, and that’s not his usual go-to. He doesn’t like being that person (live your life, stand in your truth, etc.) but _come the fuck on, Brooke_. Things don’t just happen between two people with this much history, especially when one half of that equation is clearly stupid in love and the other half is in denial. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Brooke says, saving Nina from any sort of soapboxing he might feel tempted to do. “We’re adults, I’m not -”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.” Nina raises his hands, only lying a bit. “I just worry. About both of you.”

“Well don’t.” Brooke’s in a mood this morning, but at least he seems to realize it. “Sorry. Just ignore me until I’ve had another coffee, I don’t know what my problem is.”

Nina suspects that they both know what Brooke’s problem is, but he doesn’t offer that up.  And apparently, whatever Nina witnessed in the elevator that morning was just for the elevator, because Brooke and Vanjie don’t have a word to say to each other during breakfast or after. They leave separately, and Nina leaves a few minutes later, giving a “casual goodbye nod” (you know, like a normal person does) to Monet on his way out. Monet nods back but is deep in an intense-looking conversation with Trixie and Alaska. Nina leaves them to it.

Both Brooke and Vanjie are subdued during the filming of the Werk Room entrance. Nina wonders if they’re thinking about last season, the many times they came into this room all tangled up with each other, or kissed for luck before moving to their stations (if Nina’s thinking about it, he can’t imagine they aren’t). Now Brooke and Vanjie are at opposite sides of the pack, Vanjie grinning at Nina Bo’nina’s goofy dance moves, and Brooke just off by himself, working his worn-out red hoodie like he’s on a runway.

They all gather in a group to talk about the elimination, and get Blair’s take on being safe.  She’s not crying yet, which is a good start.

“It’s a wake up call. I’m ready to show the judges that I mean business,” she says with a mild air of confidence, “that I have more to offer than I did last night.”

“Yeah you do, girl,” Vanjie says warmly. “That’s why I kept you.”

“Speaking of Miss Vaaaanjie...” Shea uses that moment to shift the conversation. “How you feel about being a winner, baby?”

Vanjie laughs. “Lord Jesus, I think it’s about damn time. If I didn’t win something this season, I was gonna send my own ass home.”

“Dela already trademarked that shit, you ain’t original,” Nina Bo’nina tells him. “She’ll take you to court about it.”

“I ain’t scared of no _Seattle queen_ , Mary,” Vanjie sounds so authentically offended that everyone, even Brooke, cracks up. “Nah, for real. They all up there, drinking coffee and being polite and shit - practically Canadian.” 

He darts a look at Brooke, who arches one eyebrow and steeples his hands like the cartoon villain some fans think he is.

“I’ll have you know that Canadians can be... extremely shady,” Brooke says, a hint of a joke in his voice.

“Bitch, you don’t gotta tell me. You already gone and proved it.”

The other queens laugh, following Brooke’s lead, but Vanjie’s tone is a little bit sharp, and things are starting to feel - not _uncomfortable_ , but like they could be heading in that direction. Nina wracks his brain, trying to think of something kind and clever to say that would re-route the conversation - when they are rescued by their Lord and Savior RuPaul.

“Hello, hello, hello!” he calls, coming into the Werk Room.

“Thank God,” Nina hears Cracker say under her breath, and he can’t help but agree. 

Then all of the mentors follow Ru down the stairs, and Nina stops thinking about anything at all.

“Look who I found at the bus stop!”

Nina immediately (and unintentionally) catches Monet’s eye, flinches, and gives him an awkward wave (a wave? Why did you wave? You could have smiled or just - looked away but - waving like a passenger on the Titanic, Nina, _oh my God_ ). Monet makes an extremely amused face and waves awkwardly back.

“Ladies.  For today’s maxi challenge you’ll be performing in three All Stars ‘she-quels’ that honour our… scissor sisters.” Ru raises an eyebrow. “You will be placed in teams of three to create follow-up scenes from famous movies about women that _looove_ women. Not to give Mommy Hytes an unfair advantage.”

Brooke smiles and licks his lips, clearly knowing where his fanbase is.

“I’m the Mommy on this show, and don’t forget it.” Ru glares in mock fury at Brooke for a moment before smiling brightly once again. “Now to separate a cast of this - quality - into teams, I think we’re going to need a little muscle.  Oh Pit Crewwwww.”

The very attractive (and probably very cold) Pit Crew come into the Werk Room armed with blankets and pillows. (Nina has had this dream before - but usually RuPaul wasn’t in the mix.)

“Who’s up for a little slumber party with your best squirrel-friends?”

The queens around Nina all raise their hands, none of them as quick as Brooke. Nina’s first reaction is to see how Vanjie’s doing with all of that, but then he puts it out of his mind. He’s more than a bystander in their love story, right? He’s gotta be.

They stop filming so that two Set Dec can come in and arrange the pillows and blankets in a cozy circle on the floor. The queens all find a seat there, interspersed with members of the Pit Crew. They film a bit of B-roll of them painting each other’s nails, doing a massage chain, pillow fighting, etc. Nina doesn’t really know where this is going, but when Ru puts an empty Absolut Vodka bottle in the middle of the circle, something awful rattles loose from the deep, dark forest of his repressed high school memories.

“To choose your teams for this challenge, we’re going to play a nice wholesome game of Spin-the-Bottle. Mentors, to keep things professional, you may leave the circle. Pit Crew, you stay right where you are.”

Nina glances helplessly at Monet as he gets up and then helps Trixie to her feet. It’s a stupid move, and when Monet inevitably realizes he’s being stared at and catches Nina’s eye, Nina immediately looks away. Probably turns red or something, breaks out in hives. You know, whatever would make him seem like the most pathetic person ever.

“Miss Vanjie. Nina West. Because you were our top All Stars in the Talent Show, you will be picking teams. And if you feel like giving your new teammates a little sugar, I’ll allow it. But no pinkie fingers. Let’s keep it clean this season.” A wink at Brooke.

Vanjie is up first, and his spin immediately lands on that delicious ginger in the Pit Crew. (Bryce? His name might be Bryce.) From the sidelines, Trixie Mattel feigns disappointment and Nina vaguely remembers some kind of flirtation between the two of them on All Stars 3. 

Brooke’s face freezes, but Vanjie only gives Bryce a kiss on each cheek, ignoring the cat calls from the other queens.

“Thank God!” Trixie says loudly. Too loudly. “You know that I’m the only queen for you, Brycie.” 

Her tone is - weird and over the top (more than the usual over the top Trixie) but Nina can’t think about that now. He’s really good at taking on other people’s problems to avoid the problems in his own life, and that’s - okay, it’s an issue, but it’s an issue he can’t fix in the next 15 minutes and he has other things to worry about.

 Nina goes next. _Maybe_ he has a lot of emotions about the fact that the mentors are no longer in the circle (like - oh God what if he had had to kiss _Monet_? And _OH GOD_ , what if he had had to kiss Monet?) but he puts them to the side. He’s strategizing, doing his best Brooke Lynn Hytes Ice Queen of the North impersonation and thinking about who would be the most strategic pick. Not that strategy has any place in this but you know...

The bottle lands on… Nina lets out a laugh. 

It’s pointing right at Blair, whose smile grows wide as she stares Nina down across the circle. 

“I do declare!” Nina says (he knows Blair can act, is going to steadfastly hope for the best) and he kisses Blair on the hand while she fans herself like a proper Southern belle.

“Try to pick a teammate this time,” Ru tells Vanjie, as he spins the bottle again. “Or Bryce maybe.”

Vanjie’s spin almost lands on Bryce again (“Whore!” Trixie yells) but when it finally stops, it’s definitely pointing at Asia. Vanjie beams, crawling over to her and giving her a messy and handsy fake kiss while the other girls shriek with laughter (not Brooke though. There’s a smile on his lips but it looks like it was hung there with a hammer).

Nina spins again, pretty satisfied with anyone that could end up on her team. It’s All Stars, baby, these queens are all winners. The bottle spins and spins -

“She’s got the endurance,” Ru comments.

-then slows and stops… in front of Miz Cracker.

Cracker glances flatly up at Nina before breaking into a little victory dance. She crawls over to Nina and leans in for a kiss before pulling away, covering her mouth. 

“Wait, are you kosher?”

Nina cocks his head to the side. “I do enjoy sausage.”

Cracker clicks her tongue. “Better not risk it.” They settle for a handshake.

“Team Nina West is complete!” Ru comments with a wide grin. “Miss Vanjie, spin again. Then our remaining queens will make up the third team.”

Vanjie makes a show of blowing on his fingertips before he spins. And wouldn’t you fucking know it -

“Brooke Lynn Hytes!” Ru announces, no doubt extremely happy at the drama that’s about to unfold. 

Vanjie’s eyebrows twitch, that little ripple of pain, before he smiles fake and flawless.

“Oh no, Mary.” He doesn’t move from his place in the circle. “Been there done that. That queen already got these cookies.”

Brooke smiles flatly, blows a kiss that Vanjie ignores.

“Now that means that Shea Coulee, Nina Bo’nina Brown, and Ivvvvy Wiiinters will make up the final team.  Ladies, you three will be performing a scene from the film _Carol_.” 

Damn it, that’s a supergroup right there. Nina forces himself not to worry. He’s got Cracker (and himself, but stay humble, girl), they’ll be golden.

“Team Vanjie.” Ru turns his attention to the source of all the awkward tension in the room. “You’ll be performing a scene from the film _Monster_.”

Brooke and Asia instantly go wide-eyed in the exact same way (while Vanjie does a little shrug. A moment later, the title seems to make an impact: “Shit, is that with Charlize being all ugly and killin’ dudes?”)

“That’s the one,” Ru says nodding.

Asia and Brooke still haven’t lost the look of panic on their faces, and Nina can’t really blame them.  How are they supposed to make _Monster_ funny? It’s the saddest story ever - though Nina can see Brooke giving off a bit of an Aileen Wuornos energy. Hmm, there’s a thought.

“Finally, Team Nina West. You’ll be performing a scene from a film that is near and dear to my heart - for absolutely no reason that I can think of - _But I’m a Cheerleader!”_

Oh my God. Nina can’t hold back his delight. He loves that film, it’s camp as hell, and RuPaul was _in it_ \- they’re going to have to turn it out, but Cracker and Blair are stand-out queens. He knows they can do it.

“Mentors, you’ll have the chance to check in on your queens as they rehearse, as well as co-direct the scenes during filming. And tomorrow’s runway theme is another nod to our sapphic sisters: Lavender Menace. Gentlemen, start your engines. And may the best woman win!”

 

* * *

 

Nina ends up eating lunch with Vanjie again, the two of them sitting cross-legged on the ground with sandwiches like a couple of kids on a picnic. They talk a little bit about how rehearsals are going (without ever once mentioning Brooke’s name) but Vanjie is constantly furtive and shifty-eyed. Nina doesn’t have to guess why.

“Whatever you wanna say, I already know it,” Vanjie says quietly, after a pause in the conversation goes on a beat too long to be comfortable. “You’re gonna tell me to be careful or I’m being stupid or something, and really bitch? I been telling myself that all day.”

“Well.” To be honest, Nina had been planning to say most of those things. This is easier. At least it will save some time. “Okay then.”

“‘Sides, it ain’t going to happen again.”

Nina raises his eyebrows, and Vanjie scowls at him.

“It ain’t! I ain’t doing that again, no ma’am. Me and your girl, we’re done. Don’t pretend you never had an itch to scratch. It don’t have to mean nothing, right? And it sure as hell don’t mean nothing to him.” A flicker of pain crosses Vanjie’s face before he presses his lips together, manages a smirk that’s shaped more like a broken heart. “Bitch, I seen you and your walk of shame after that finale, you know how it is.  And you still ain’t told me who it was.”

“Uh. No.” He coughs. “No, I did not.” How did this conversation get so quickly out of Nina’s control? “A – gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

"You think you’re some kinda gentleman? With your dress undone and your wig over your arm? You a ho just like the rest of us.” Vanjie grins, delighted. “If it was just some random trade you wouldn’t be so shook up about it. It’s gotta be someone we know.”

“I’m not shook up. I just – it was nothing. A one-night thing.” It hurts to say, more than Nina expected it would. But he knows it’s true. He has to know. And if there had maybe been the possibility of it turning into something more – even just lunch – Nina certainly put an end to that the next morning.

“Girl, look at who you’re talking to. You think – you think I don’t know that lie when I hear it?” Vanjie swallows, smiles weakly. “I been there, right?”

“Vanjie-”

“So who was it? Another queen? Bitch, you kaikai-ing with Yvie? I remember there being some kissing –”

“No.”

“Hmmph. Nah, you right. Miss Scarlet would’ve already murdered your ass in the ballroom with the lead pipe, Mary.” Vanjie narrows her eyes, thinking it over. “It wasn’t any of the Dream Girls - though Silk would climb you like a tree, you give her half the chance.”

“Can we talk about something else? I really don’t want to -”

“Who were you talking to that night? ‘Cause I fucked off early. Was it -” 

“How’s it going, Jean Grey?” Monet’s low voice interrupts them. “Hey there, Miss Vanjie.”

Vanjie cranes his head back to beam up at Monet who is standing, arms-folded, above them. “Hey girl! You come to try to steal me for your team? I ain’t messing with Miss Trixie, no ma’am. You piss her off then Katya’s coming after your ass, and that bitch crazy.”

Monet laughs. “Okay, fine. Fair. Won’t even try it. Came over here to ask Miss Nina West if she wanted to run lines with me and Cracks after lunch. What you think?” He rubs the back of his neck. 

“Sounds great. Yeah. Thanks.” Nina looks up at Monet, tries not to turn too obviously into a puddle.

“Don’t thank me, I got wig money on the line.” Monet winks, smiles, places a hand on Nina’s shoulder. It lingers for a moment too long. “I’ll come grab you after.”

“Okay.” He watches Monet walk off, then looks back at Vanjie.

Whose mouth is hanging open. 

“ _Oh, bitch_.”

“Stop,” Nina warns.

“ _Bitch!”_ Vanjie repeats, swatting Nina’s leg playfully. “Okay, I see you, Miss Nina.”

“Please, don’t,” Nina begs.

Vanjie raises an eyebrow and presses his lips together into a tight smirk, but Nina knows this isn’t done, won’t be done until Vanjie has the details he craves.

“It - oh, God - okay.” Nina sighs. “There was a lot of tequila involved and bad decisions and now it’s kind of weird.”

“I bet,” Vanjie says, and then bites his lip. “Was it good? I mean, Monet _looks_ like he’d be good. So was it good?”

Nina’s face catches fire, he’s sure of it. Positive there are flames shooting off his forehead from how hard he’s blushing. And he hates it, because he knows that gives more away than his words would.

“Ha! So it’s like that. Damn.” Vanjie sits back, looking far too amused. “Miss Nina and Miss Monet… I gotta say though…” He pauses and takes a long drink of water from the bottle at his side, no doubt for dramatic effect. “Didn’t neither one of y’all look like it was nothing just now.”

“Well it - it was.  Nothing. And I - the next morning, I - there are some things that -” 

Vanjie takes pity on his inability to form a sentence. “Listen, girl. I’m just saying - you looked good. Together, I mean. And it can be nice to have a piece of something when the competition gets intense.” 

Vanjie tries to look down and not across the room at Brooke, where he’s sitting and laughing with Shea, Ivy, and Asia, but fails. He shakes his head (only slightly, but Nina sees).

Maybe Nina isn’t the only one here who spends time trying to fix other people’s relationships instead of worrying about his own.

He clears his throat. “It… He’s my mentor. Even if I _was_ interested - and I’m not saying that I am - and even if he were interested, which obviously he isn’t - anyway, the point is it wouldn’t work. At least, not on _Drag Race_.” What he doesn’t add is that he’s seen a relationship blossom on national television, and he isn’t keen to experience the raw heartbreak that is Branjie.

“Mmm.” Vanessa’s tone is introspective. “ _Drag Race_ ain’t forever.“

Vanjie’s always been able to read into things beyond surface value. Nina was half-convinced that was the reason Brooke and Vanjie would make it.  Vanjie seemed to see things in Brooke that Brooke didn’t even see in himself. Noticed when Brooke was getting in his head, getting too anxious. Knew without a word when Brooke had to be left alone, and when he needed someone to make him laugh. It was a weird symbiotic thing they had for a bit, and Nina had envied it, even as he’d been happy for his friends.  He thought it was - something.

“Please don’t tell anybody, okay? Not even Brooke.”

“I told you. Me and your girl - we’re done. It’s gotta be like that.” Vanjie only sounds a bit like he’s drowning. “Your secret’s safe. But listen, don’t throw shade at your own damn self.  Monet… He’s good. Like _good_ and nice and shit. Like you. So just think about it.”

Nina nods, all while fully intending to try as hard as he can to _not_ think about it. But with Monet fluttering around the break room, laughing and dancing with Trixie and smiling that perfect smile, he knows that’s going to be easier said than done.

 

* * *

 

“My name is Graham and I like girls!” Blair chirps.

Monet purses his lips. “Hmm. Okay. So let’s do it again and… I don’t really know how to say this other than… Butch it up a little?”

Blair nods, but Nina can sense the frustration building. 

They’ve been running lines for three hours and it’s not going well. The three of them have read over the script, selected their chosen roles, and consulted with Monet (who thought it was brilliant and hilarious to have Nina - with his line-backer shoulders - play the wholesome cheerleader Megan. The way he laughed when he described it made something special and intense fire in Nina’s stomach, and he’s got to get control of that.  Especially now that Vanjie knows? Damn it. Put it in a box and kick that box into the sun.)

“My name is Graham and I like girls!” Blair says again, and her tone is… exactly the same. It’s very Blair. And there’s nothing wrong with that per se, it’s just not what they need for this challenge.

Monet nods and quirks his lips into a terse smile. “Maybe let’s take a break.”

Nina turns to Cracker, who’s playing the repressed Born Again camp counselor. 

“I think we’re getting there!”

Cracker scoffs and rolls her eyes before stomping off after Monet.

Blair slumps into a chair against the wall and looks up at Nina miserably. “I’m really screwing this up.”

“No,” Nina lies and sits down next to her.  “You’re shaken, that’s understandable. Just relax and you’ll be fine.”

“I just… I don’t get this character at all.” Blair tosses her script on the floor. “I’m really trying, I am, but like - I’m so afraid I’m going to be sent home. And I’m probably _going_ to be sent home, now, because I’m screwing this up and it’s all I can think about.” 

Nina remembers that feeling all too well, relates intensely to Blair’s feeling of inadequacy. But - damn it, all their lives are on the line here. He’s got to get Blair out of her head, even if it means - changing things up. Giving up the role that made Monet laugh like he was dying. Nina can - he can do it.  It’s not the first time. It worked out okay for him and Brooke last year (okay for Nina anyway. Brooke did - substantially better with that arrangement). And Nina was… Safe. He can handle safe. Safe is good at this point.

“So.” Nina clears his throat, steels himself for what’s coming. “Which character would you rather play?” Brace for impact. Do it for the greater good.

Blair chews her thumbnail. “Honestly, I think the uber-religious one?  Cracker’s? Like maybe my tone would fit better? I can do repressed gay, I mean - I’m from Indiana.”

YES! I mean, fine. The greater good.

Nina tries not to seem too obviously relieved.

 “Okay! Okay.  So now we just have to convince Cracker to switch roles with you. To be honest, I feel like she could probably pull off Graham.” (Surly, sarcastic - yeah, Cracker will have no problem there.) “You should be the one to ask her though - since she and I… well.  I mean. You guys are Season 10 sisters! Can you do that?”

Blair nods. “Yes. Yeah, I’ll ask her. Thanks Nina! I feel better about this already.”

Nina plasters on his best Miss Congeniality smile, hopes he doesn’t seem too worried. He isn’t. Not really. 

While Blair chases after Monet and Cracker, Nina looks across the Werk Room at the other teams.  Nina Bo’nina, Ivy, and Shea’s team is falling over with laughter - Shea in a perfect blonde Cate Blanchett wig and a tailored fifties dress that is doing everything for her. Nina knows that confidence doesn’t necessarily lead to a winning performance, but in this case, he doesn’t see how they could fail. 

Brooke, Vanjie, and Asia  - that’s a different story. Brooke has definitely gotten into serial killer mode, but he and Vanjie are staring grim-faced at their scripts, clearly frustrated. Even though he can’t hear what they’re saying, Nina can see the way Brooke keeps getting distracted when Vanjie speaks, or when he gets too close. Vanjie’s eyes keep getting darker and darker, and poor Asia is stuck trying to pull the two of them together while keeping them apart. 

Brooke must feel Nina watching him because he looks up and gives him a painfully fake pageant smile.

Nina smiles back with wide, panicked eyes, gives Brooke a brittle thumbs up (at least that makes Brooke laugh).  He wishes he could say that his team would _at least_ do better than Brooke and Vanjie’s - but at this point, barring a miracle from Saint Cracker, he has no idea how that’s going to happen.

He looks down at his script.  Works on memorizing the lines now that he knows Blair isn’t gunning for his role (he’s basically got them down already, comes with the territory). He tells himself that he’s lived through situations inconceivably worse than this one (and he really, _really_ has) so no matter what, he doesn’t have to feel like there’s a badger in his chest, savaging his liver. What happens, happens; go big, be kind, etc.

“You’re looking pressed as hell.”

It’s a testament to how distracted Nina is that Monet can slip into the seat beside him without Nina even noticing.

“You don’t have to be. Cracks and Blair are talking it out. Think they’re going to switch roles. How you feeling, Bubble Guns?”

“Um.” The nickname takes him aback a little. He said he didn’t like it, but come on; he likes the fact that Monet is still paying attention to him. Still invested in him. Even if it’s mostly because there’s money and prestige and basically winning another season on the line. 

“Don’t get all green on me, girl.” Monet sighs. “You should feel fine. You were… You were killing it in rehearsals, okay? You’re a funny bitch, Nina West. You got this.”

Nina nods. Forces himself to focus on the words on the script in front of him and not the way that his first and last name roll together effortlessly off Monet’s tongue, the way his deep, rich voice wraps around each syllable, caresses it.

“Thanks,” Nina mutters, flipping the edges of his script. “But I don’t know—”

Then Monet pulls the script from his hands, takes Nina’s in his own, lays his hands on top of Nina’s palms, and faces him. Head on. 

“That’s the thing we need to stop,” Monet says quietly. “I know you. You run shit in Columbus, Queen Nina West. Where’s that confidence?”

“This isn’t Columbus. It’s different here,” Nina manages to get out, hands burning under the weight of Monet’s on top of his. He won’t be the first to pull away no matter how much he’s tempted, no matter how much of a bad idea this feels like.

Monet tips his head to the side. “It’s as different as you make it. Deep breaths now. We gotta get this anxiety thing under control if you’re gonna win a crown.”

Nina angles his body until he’s facing Monet straight on, then they lock eyes, and Nina lets Monet guide him. 

_In, out._ Nina feels like his heart might pound through his chest.

_In, out._ Monet’s eyes aren’t just brown, they’re mahogany, notes of purple and maroon and gold in the depths.

_In, out._ He might imagine it, but Nina thinks he can feel his pulse sync with Monet’s in the same way their breaths are flowing together, a slow beat running through their palms.

_In, out._ Monet might be leaning closer, but Nina could also just be concentrating way too hard on those eyes that aren’t really brown and the feeling of Monet’s fingers on his and—

“Monet!” It’s Cracker from across the room. Her hands are on her hips, eyes narrowed in a sneer, and Nina clears his throat, effectively ending anything that lingered, dissipating the electricity in the air between him and Monet.

He might be making it up (it’s getting hard to tell what’s real and what he _wants_ to be real as far as Monet is concerned), but Nina would swear that Monet rolls his eyes as he removes his hands from Nina’s and smiles at him. Which… That smile is like Christmas and birthdays and the last day of school and ice cream on the hottest day of the summer all rolled into one. It’s _everything_.

“Keep working on it,” Monet says, tapping Nina’s script. “And listen, girl: you got this. Okay?”

Nina nods. When Monet says it, it’s almost enough to make him believe it himself.

 

* * *

 

The mentors are there with Michelle when they get to the soundstage for filming. Nina knows he looks ridiculous in his over the top cheerleader costume, but it makes Monet laugh out loud when he sees him (Nina’s hoping it’s in a good way). The other mentors are sitting beside Michelle too - Trinity waves at Blair, and Trixie is looking down at her phone as usual. She slides it under her thigh as the enter, but the screen lights up almost immediately.

Cracker looks hilarious in her bad-girl outfit with a messy wig and layers of black eyeliner. The role switch is really working for her. Blair’s Born Again camp counselor look is a little understated, and it makes Nina worried – he encouraged her to make it more campy, but Blair was terrified of looking “ugly” and this was their compromise. Whatever, it’s done. Move forward.

“My comedy queens!” Michelle calls out when she sees them. “Look at you! I feel like all of you have that theatre background, right? Or have killed an acting challenge or two, so this should be easy for you all.  You feeling confident?”

The three of them share an awkward look. They’d run the lines a few times after the switch, but there hadn’t been a ton of time and, well… Blair had been concerned about memorizing everything after spending all morning focused on the other role. Nina’s fine, Cracker’s fine, but Blair...

“We’re going to do our best,” Nina says instead of answering the question, because – that answer could be played out on-screen so many ways (the cocky team before their downfall, etc.), and he doesn’t want to take the chance. He manages to catch Blair’s eye, though, and tries his best to give her a reassuring grin.

“Okay, well. This is high camp, right in your wheelhouse. And we know it has a special place in Ru’s heart, so make us laugh, okay? You all ready?”

Nina nods and they find their marks. Make ‘em laugh.  He can do that.

“Action!”

They start off a bit rocky - Blair nervously rushing through her lines, but at least she remembers them.  They have to take the scene from the top, but after that, Nina starts to feel like he’s getting into the groove of it. And then Cracker enters the scene.

“My name’s Graham, and I like girls.” Cracker’s tone is correct. She’s sarcastic and absolutely _over it_ , but Nina gets flustered waiting to see how it will go and misses his cue entirely.

Cracker rolls her eyes and continues, but the rhythm of the scene is off and they never recover. Damn it. Damn it - okay, move on, move forward.

Eventually, they get enough that production will be able to piece together and they move on to the next scene. Wherein Cracker immediately flubs a line. Nina tries to keep his expression neutral, but he sighs before he can help it. 

“Cut!” Michelle calls. “Sorry, Cracker, Nina – you two are supposed to have chemistry, right? I’m not feeling any of that.”

Cracker gives Nina a pointed look, and Nina smiles tightly at her.

“Let’s try it again,” Michelle says.

“I can’t be a lesbian, I’m a cheerleader!” Nina wails and Cracker strolls in, smoking her fake cigarette.

They only get a handful of lines in before Michelle is calling “Cut!” again.

“What’s going on here?” she asks, and the set goes completely silent. “Miz Cracker, you’re a funny queen, but you’re coming off flat.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, I’m not the one who’ll be going home if you don’t get it together.  Mentors, anything to add?”

Trinity, Trixie, and Monet exchange uncomfortable glances with each other.

“Are you having fun?” Trixie asks after an awkward pause. “Because it doesn’t look like you are. And if _you_ aren’t, no one watching this is.”

Michelle nods. “Right? Trixie, you and Katya always look like you’re having fun together on _UNHhhh_ , and that’s why everyone loves it. Like, we get to watch two people who are just crazy about each other and having a great time. You can’t fake that.”

Nina might imagine it, but it looks like Trixie stiffens - sits straight up in her chair, thin legs crossed at the knee. The foot she was swinging out of habit stops and even as she smiles, tries to look casual, Nina can see that her fingers have curled into tight fists.

“Yeah,” Trixie says slowly. “I mean, we’re best friends so… It’s easy, right? This should be easy. It _is_ easy.”

Monet squeezes Trixie’s knee and glances up at the stage. “Y’all know what you’re doing. All of y’all can act. Just - loosen up.”

“That’s right!” Trinity chimes in. “And Miss St. Clair, from one good Southern girl to another, don’t be afraid to get a little messy. You’re a funny queen, you got this.” 

“Just have fun with it,” Michelle reiterates.

Nina nods, accepting the feedback.  He isn’t having fun right now, to be honest. Cracker’s looking at him like she might bite his head off, and Blair’s eyes are welling up with tears, and soon enough he’s going to embarrass himself in front of Michelle Visage and a bunch of drag legends - not to mention Monet who he’s totally crazy about -

Oh. 

Shit.

That was not a thing he meant to - to think.  Or feel. Or - or -

He likes Monet.

_Like_ likes him, like a stupid teenager with a crush.

Oh no. 

For all his insistence that their hook-up meant nothing, that he was going to keep his head in the game, Nina is suddenly struck blind with the realization that he’s completed fucked.

And he has this realization on a soundstage as his team is falling apart around him.  

Perfect. Wonderful.

“We have enough time for one more take,” Michelle says softly. “Just one. So let’s make it count.”

Nina takes a deep breath and holds it. This cannot be happening right now. He tries to remember where his mark is.

“And action!”

They make it to the end of the scene, where the girl-on-girl kiss is interrupted by Blair only to dissolve into a frantic menage-a-trois. When Michelle finally calls cut, she isn’t smiling. Monet and Trinity look worried as well. Trixie is… Well, she’s gone back to tapping away at her phone, but she forces her lips into a tight smile (that looks more like a grimace) when she surveys them.

“All right, ladies.” Michelle sighs. Tense. Stressed. Like it’s her proverbial life on the line. “Thank you very much.  And I really hope you bring it on the runway tomorrow.”

They leave the soundstage feeling - heavy. Down. Unable to stand the air of defeat, Nina instantly goes into mama bear mode.

“It’s fine, Michelle’s hard on everybody. Blair, I think the last take was your best one, and Cracks –”

“Nope, no, do not call me that.” Cracker holds up a hand and shakes her head. “My _friends_ call me that.”

Nina stares at her. This doesn’t feel like the time to squabble over nicknames. “Oh, sorry, I – just got used to hearing Monet say it. I know -” 

“Because _Monet_ is my friend,” Cracker says slowly. “So.”

“O-kay.” Nina can’t think of anything else to say right now.

Blair is looking between the two of them in sheer terror, eyes welling up with tears.

“Don’t cry, Blair,” Cracker says, and her tone is rather - _pointed_. “This whole thing isn’t _your_ fault.”

Nina feels the sting of the comment, and wishes he didn’t.  

“Sorry,” he says, as politely as possible, because whatever is going on here, it seems to be ramping up. “Whose fault is it then?”

Cracker holds open her arms in a dramatic shrug. 

“Well, _you’re_ the team captain.”

Blair takes a step back. “You guys - let’s just - we’re all feeling stressed so maybe we should -”

Nina holds up a hand. “Actually, I think I’d really like to have this conversation.” He faces Cracker head on. “I’m sorry, and I don’t know why this would be the case, but it kind of feels like you’re angry at me? Like you’ve been angry with me since the first episode.”

“Angry at you?” Cracker rolls her eyes. “No, I don’t feel any way about you whatsoever. I’m just trying to put together the image you present with what I know about you as a person.”

“What do you know about me as a person?” He doesn’t know Cracker at all. How did she somehow get this terrible opinion of him?

“Clearly the Miss Congeniality thing is something you do for television, right? And then when the cameras are off you just walk all over people.”

“I’m -” Nina looks at Blair’s stunned face and then back to Cracker. “I’m sorry, _what_ did I ever do to you?”

“To me? Nothing. But Monet…” Cracker shakes her head. “After everything he told you, it’s low. It’s fucking low.”

“Sorry,” Nina says for the second, third, fourth time, because he cannot believe what he is hearing right now (and Brooke always said he was practically Canadian). “After Monet told me _what_?” 

Cracker’s got to be referring to Nina’s (okay, fine) _ghosting_ of Monet following the finale taping.  Monet must have told her about it, and admittedly, it was not Nina’s best moment. But it wasn’t like there had been - feelings or anything involved. At least, not on Monet’s part. It was just a hook-up, right? And any chance for anything else to come of it - well, that’s done.  That ship has _sailed_. And - it’s for the best. Nina’s been telling himself that for weeks, months even. And he really doesn’t want to talk about this right now, not with the newfound understanding of his feelings still ringing in his ears like a gunshot.

“Whatever. This is such bullshit.” Cracker rolls her eyes. “Everyone thinks you’re so great, like ‘Go Big, Be Kind,’ whatever.  But you are _not_. And I didn’t want to get into this, but - Monet deserved better. And after what he said -”

“Look, Cracker.” Whatever happened between him and Monet, whatever Nina feels, there certainly hadn’t been much conversation. They’d both been far too gone on tequila, and their mouths had mostly been… otherwise engaged (don’t think about that, not now). “I honestly have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. Monet didn’t tell me anything, so… I’m sorry, I guess, that I’m confused, but I don’t want to argue with you anymore. Do you want to tell me what I’m supposed to know? What you’re so angry about? That would be swell. But if not - I don’t know what to say.”  He’s tired of fighting, tired of Cracker’s vitriol. If this is how she’s going to be all season, he isn’t sure a crown and a title and $100,000 is worth it. 

Cracker looks up at him, eyes narrowed in distrust and defensiveness.

And then - something changes.  Her expression twitches and then - softens at whatever she sees in his face. She looks down briefly, then looks back up.

“He…” She uncrosses her arms, shakes her head. Her entire demeanor changes, eyes going wide like she’s seeing Nina in person for the first time. “Oh my God. Monet didn’t tell you.  He didn’t, did he.” It’s not a question; there’s no lilt in her voice, just a sad note of realization.

Nina shakes his head, a bit thunderstruck by what’s going on in front of him.

“He didn’t tell you,” Cracker says again. “That fucking idiot. Oh my God.”

“Well.”

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Nina takes a chance, reaches across the distance between them, and takes her hand. “Don’t - do that. Don’t kill anyone.”

Cracker nods, gripping his hand tightly. “This… explains so much actually. Oh my God. Nina.”

“Listen, Cracker, I honestly don’t know what this is about. I don’t -”

“I’m so sorry,” Cracker interrupts him, and all of a sudden she is the charmingly neurotic queen he remembers from Season 10. “For how I’ve acted towards you. It’s… not okay. I can’t believe - I’m just sorry.”

“Thank you,” Nina says sincerely. “That means a lot.”

“And I didn’t mean what I said… About you being not great. I just thought - oh my God, I’m so stupid.”

“Listen.” Nina stops her. “I’m good. _We’re_ good. Let’s - can we start over?” He cranks up the Nina West charm. “‘Cause I’m like _such_ a huge fan.” 

Cracker smiles, a bit embarrassed.

“Or at least I was. Before you came for my life.”

This makes Cracker laugh, and she nods. “Starting over sounds good.”

They bring it in for a group hug, mostly because Blair looks like she needs it.  Nina takes a moment to fully have an out-of-body experience, because this has been the strangest day he’s had in recent memory. He kind of wants to keep asking Cracker about the whole Monet thing, wants to figure out what he’s meant to know, but - baby steps.  He doesn’t want to ruin whatever fragile peace they’ve found for now.

“Does this mean I can call you Cracks?” he asks.

“Fuck off,” Cracker laughs. “But Blair, you’re allowed.”

All the queens grab dinner together that night; craft services sets up something in the conference room, and Nina sits off in the corner with Brooke again - mostly for Brooke’s sake than his own (mostly, mostly he swears). Things with Cracker are better (she gave him a small smile across the table as they filled their plates), but still not entirely comfortable, and Nina thinks it may be best to let the dust settle before he tries to spark a true friendship.

The mentors aren’t there - they went out for dinner together, because they are All Stars and deserve it. Or something (no, but really, they do. They already lived through two seasons, and came out the other side. It’s only episode two and Nina thinks they all should have statues).

Brooke doesn’t seem - great. He’s clearly worried about his team’s performance, fidgeting more than normal, barely eating anything. His eyes are always glancing over Nina’s shoulder at the table where Vanjie’s sitting, and Nina feels a bit like he’s in high school again, hanging out with the cool kid who’d rather be somewhere else.

“And how’d she do?” Nina asks, leaving no doubt as to who he’s talking about.

“Oh, Vanessa? Well, you know. I mean, neither of us are Meryl Streep.” For the first time all evening, Brooke’s mouth curves into a shadow of a smile.  And Nina’s heart breaks, just a bit. 

It brings him back to his stupid Monet feelings from this afternoon, something he’s been trying to avoid thinking about like it might cause brain cancer. Whatever, it’s fine, it’s fine.  Nina has - experience putting these sorts of feelings to the side. He feels a lot, and he’s a crier, all that fun stuff, but - the romantic bits, those are things that can be compartmentalized. He’s had enough hopeless crushes in his life as an ex-Conservative, broad-shouldered, Disney-loving drag queen from Ohio (no shade on Ohio, go _Buckeyes_ ) that he’s an expert in unrealized longing. 

Grit your teeth and clench your fists until the feeling ebbs.

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. Nina doesn’t know what the next day will bring, and he’s pretty sure he wasn’t the weakest member of their team, but the final decision isn’t going to be up to the judges.  It will be up to his sisters. And hopefully hopefully _hopefully_ he’s endeared himself to at least a few of them, enough to keep him around for another few episodes.

Maybe he’s worrying for nothing, maybe it’ll all be fine. Nina wouldn’t want to see Brooke or Vanjie go home, of course - but at this point being declared ‘safe’ would feel like a goddamn gift.  More than he deserves.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s restless, and full of odd dreams. He’s on stage back in Columbus, and Monet is there in the audience, wearing that honey-gold dress from the night of the finale.  He’s trying to tell Nina something, Nina can see his lips moving, hands cupped around his mouth, but his voice keeps getting drowned out by the noise of the crowd (when Nina finally wakes with a gasp, Monet’s voice is running through his head like fog, but the words are already lost).

 


	5. i bet you've got secrets too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Nina and Cracker resolved their tension, though Cracker appears to know more than she's letting on. The queens were grouped in threes to recreate some classic sapphic films, and Nina isn't feeling great about his team's performance. Meanwhile, Monet helps Nina calm his nerves.
> 
> To come: the runway, the reckoning, a flashback. And a musical number. Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your love and support of this story! We are blown away by all your kind words and enthusiasm. It truly means more to us than we can say.

Nina wakes up and is still on Drag Race. 

(Will the same thing be true tomorrow morning? _Don’t think about that right now_.)

He showers, gets dressed, heads down to breakfast. As he’s waiting for the elevator he tries not to fidget too much, not to start biting his nails or tugging at the buttons on his cuff.  He’s already vibrating with anxiety and the day hasn’t even started yet. Breathe, girl (but then that just makes him think about Monét, their shared breath yesterday in the Werk Room, the warmth of Monét’s hands against his. _In, out._ Goddamn if Nina isn’t going to remember Monét’s voice all low and calm like that, or their eyes locked together, for maybe probably the rest of his life).

The elevator dings as it opens, and - _Jesus Christ._

This time Nina recognizes the gasping couple immediately.

“What—and I cannot stress this enough—the _fuck_ , you guys?”

Brooke and Vanjie immediately pull away from each other. Nina turns his back. He doesn’t want to see them, doesn’t need to have this conversation. If either of them think that he’s going to spend the rest of the day talking them down from whatever lovelorn panic spiral they end up in, well - they’re wrong.  That’s what they are.

So much for “it won’t happen again” and “we’re done” and all of that. Nina should’ve known better. He’s heard the speech from both of them before, after all, and look where it’s left them. (Not to belabour a point, but it’s left them here, on All Stars, making out in elevators and then pretending that anyone is fooled.)

When he gets to the conference room, the mentors have already left. Nina - tries not to feel too disappointed. It just means he probably won’t see Monét until tonight on the runway (even then, it will only be from a distance.)

Maybe that’s for the best. Nina could use a bit of distance. 

After that dream last night, Monét’s been in his head all morning, and Nina’s got to be stronger than this ( _put it aside, right? Give it up, throw it away. Do something else with these feelings, anything except - feel them)._

He sits with Asia for breakfast, ignoring Brooke and Vanjie as they go off to separate corners of the room, neither of them speaking to each other (both of them avoiding eye contact with Nina. Thank God for that).

“I think we were okay,” Asia tells him about her scene. “Like, we got it the hell together. But those two...” She raises an eyebrow, no more clarification needed. “They gotta figure out their shit. They still fucking?”

“I - have no idea.” Nina likes Asia, trusts her, but - he really doesn’t know how to answer that question. Given the situation in the elevator this morning. And yesterday morning. And - you know, probably most mornings (nights, afternoons) since they damn well broke up.

“Did you know Trixie’s man split with her?” Asia asks the question like she’s asking Nina if he knows what the weather’s going to be like. “Vanjie told me. I guess Miss Mattel was all up in her feelings yesterday.”

“Really?” Nina’s genuinely surprised. From the vibes that Trixie gave off on social media, he thought her boyfriend was kind of a - sure thing.  Jesus, what was his name? Well, Nina knew at one point, and Trixie had been writing songs about him and - it’s all unexpected. Though of course Nina doesn’t know her as a person at all, really. Just knows her as Trixie Mattel, All Star and business mogul and celebrity shit-talker. 

“The tea is that it’s because of some pics with Katya, you know.”

“I… don’t.”

“Like romantic photos. Nothing - I’m not talking dick pics, honey. Just some shit from a show or something, you know how they are. All touchy, cuddly. Anyway, I don’t have the details or anything. Just what Miss Vanjie was spilling.” 

Nina thinks back to Trixie Mattel’s awkwardness from their time on set yesterday. The way she flinched when they brought up Katya. Jesus - no, _no._ He’s _not_ going to take on anyone else’s drama right now. _Ru Paul’s Best Friends Race?_ More like _Ru Paul’s Messy High School Soap Opera_.

Nina’s shaky and anxious for most of the day, despite his best efforts.  He tries to keep a brave face on, tries to convince himself he’s got nothing to worry about. His Lavender Menace runway look is one of his favourites: a super-cinched mermaid silhouette that drips with pale purple beads and holographic paillettes.  He feels like a futuristic Barbra Streisand in “Hello Dolly!” and can’t wait for the judges to see it.

He and Brooke paint next to each other at the mirror, a bit quieter than usual (Nina is _not_ going to ask, is not going to give in to the Branjie drama _du jour_.) There’s always been a calm that surrounds Nina while he paints so he relaxes into it. He knows this part, understands it, trusts his hands with the brushes even if he doesn’t completely trust his body on the runway (or trust his sisters with their votes). He relies on muscle memory and an arsenal of information gleaned from the countless queens with whom he’s worked over the years. Makeup he’s confident in. Makeup is what he can put his hands all over and make his own. If he has nothing else, he has his face (and fully made up, with the right shade of lipstick and just the right wig, Nina feels almost pretty. Close enough that with a couple drinks in, you might not know the difference).

Today he’s chosen a deep plum eye flecked with holographic glitter. It’s a lot, it’s over the top, it’s very _Nina West_ , which is exactly what he’s here to show them. Too much of himself got lost in Season 11 and that can’t - _won’t-_ happen again. His glitter might exactly match the paillettes on his dress. He might have planned that. His purple eyeshadow might _also_ match Monét’s purple lipstick from the finale night (that, he didn’t plan. Honest.) 

After he makes the connection, though, it’s almost all he can think about, which is not a good thing. He should be focusing on the competition. On turning it _out_ on this runway. On trying to ignore the feeling that it could be his last one. 

A couple of innocuous conversations about the “inner saboteur” happen while they’re all painting together, but the producers are looking for that hook, so - _of course_ it’s only a matter of time before they convince someone (in this case Ivy, who probably didn’t realize it was a trap) to ask the inevitable question.

“Brooke and Vanjie. What was it like being on the same team again? Like playing a couple after - you know, everything?”

Nina stiffens, knows that this question is going to fuck with Brooke and Vanjie’s heads. The two of them look over at each other and then away, before Nina forces himself to focus on his own reflection in the mirror. He packs more plum eyeshadow on his brush, taps it carefully on his eyelid, pretends he isn’t listening. (Of course he’s listening. They’re all listening.)

“It’s fine, girl,” Vanjie says, trying desperately to sound nonchalant. “Makes it more realistic, don’t it? Plus that shit is ancient history. Like, back when there were dinosaurs and shit.”

“Is it awkward though?” Shea asks. “Being on the same season again?”

“No,” Brooke says a beat too late, a note too high. Nina winces at the sound, then hopes that none of the cameras caught that. The last thing he wants to do in his talking-head tonight is answer questions about Branjie. “I mean, we stayed friends, stayed really close—” 

“Oh yeah, real close.” Vanessa snorts, runs his tongue across his teeth, stares down at the bottle of foundation on his table. The Werk Room falls silent. Brooke’s hand pauses, mascara wand poised above his right eye, waiting for the bomb to drop, waiting for Vanessa’s next move. 

Nina’s waiting too.

But Vanjie just releases a deep breath and clicks his tongue. “Yeah, we cool. We did what we did in the scene, now we just gotta wait. But baby, it’s gonna be all fine.”

* * *

It’s anything but all fine, as it turns out. 

The runway is one thing. Clearly Brooke looks gorgeous in purple (Nina isn’t blind). Vanjie goes unexpectedly high-fashion in an asymmetrical gown patterned with lilacs, lilacs also forming a crown atop her white-blonde wig—a May Queen, a Midsummer Night’s dream. Nina feels like a bag of money in his dress, and if he searches for Monét’s approving gaze from the audience, well - it doesn’t have to mean anything.  It _doesn’t_ mean anything. Nina uses this ache for fuel, stomps the runway like maybe, maybe, maybe he’s winning Monét over. Like he’s cool and sexy and mysterious, like he could be the kind of person someone like Monét would fall for. 

He lets that fantasy carry him as he flirts with the judges, spins at centre stage, and leaves the runway walking on air (he’s done what he can, let’s hope it’s enough).

When they’re all called back to watch the films and listen to the judges’ critiques, Nina’s fantasy starts to fade. 

Shea, Nina Bo’nina, and Ivy slay (as Nina completely expected). The three of them look gorgeous (Shea’s purple dress has a bustle and train that nearly stretches the length of the runway, it’s dramatic as hell and the judges are living). Their scene is weird and glamorous and perfect: Shea as Carol, Ivy as Therese, and Nina Bo’nina as the surprise jealous ex-girlfriend have Ru almost crying with laughter. There’s no doubt that they’re going to be in the top tonight - or at least two of them will.

Brooke and Vanjie, well… Being bad at acting is one thing, but Nina can’t for the life of him figure out how they’re so bad at playing a couple when they’ve literally been doing it since their break up last fall. _If only Aileen Wuornos had an Instagram_ , Nina thinks bitterly, _they’d be fucking set._

The looks are on point, and Asia is a lone bright star as an evil police officer, but Brooke and Vanjie are kind of a mess. Nina doesn’t know how to feel about it—it’s hard to feel anything when he’s still waiting for his own scene to play.

And then it does.

Blair reaches over and takes hold of Nina’s hand as the clip rolls, and it is - not great.

Not awful - but definitely not great.

Nina gets a couple good laughs, and Cracker looks the part, but Michelle was right - they are stiff, and they don’t look like they’re having fun. Blair in particular looks terrified on-screen (and Nina can feel Blair’s hand tightening against his as the scene unfolds).

When it ends, Nina tries to smile graciously but he knows it falls flat. On the other side of Blair, Cracker stares down at the runway.

Ross claps enthusiastically, but Ru and Michelle applaud more out of polite tradition. And that’s when Nina _knows_ that they’re fucked. 

“Ladies,” Ru says after a short deliberation break where Nina desperately tries to hold Blair together without falling apart himself. “What an - _interesting_ approach to this week’s challenge. Here’s some advice: stop letting personal matters get in the way of your success.” 

Nina gulps. 

“That said, let’s move on to the judges’ critiques.”

They love Shea (of course). Ivy’s dress isn’t their favorite silhouette, but they commend her on the flawless construction and the bold use of lavender and grey plaid wrapping paper (that queen is something else). The other Nina has painted her entire body purple and green as a living, breathing representation of a lavender plant and the judges are interested if not completely sold. Either way, Nina hasn’t heard enough negative critiques to feel safe.

Brooke is next. The judges fawn over his form-fitting fully-stoned pageant gown, the pale color of the fabric accentuating the creamy undertone of his skin. Michelle especially loves that he’s wearing a deep auburn wig, says it changes his entire aesthetic and is the perfect balance to the rest of the look.

“But I see we still haven’t taken any acting classes,” she continues carefully.

Brooke purses his lips. “I actually did, I just—” He sighs. “It was a rough week for me.”

Michelle nods, narrows her eyes, and then surprisingly - drops it? She doesn’t listen to excuses from anyone,  but for some reason she doesn’t go right for Brooke’s throat this week. Nina suspects she knows exactly what (or who?) Brooke is referring to. Michelle usually does. 

Asia’s electric purple feathers are another judges’ favorite, and she’s  complimented by both Michelle and Ross for being the saving grace of an otherwise dim performance.

Nina can see Vanjie crumbling with nerves, but the smile he pastes on when Ru says his name is radiant, could light up Columbus in a pinch.  If Vanjie just knew how to channel that control into challenges - Nina forces himself to listen. 

“First of all, you look flawless. This is not your Season 10 or Season 11 Miss Vanjie. You are stepping up, girl.” Michelle smiles, and Vanjie’s face could now light the entire state of Ohio.

“But I’d like to know who made the decision that you and Brooke would play the main couple?” Ross asks.

Blackout. Vanessa’s mouth falls open. “I- We- It was a group decision.”

“We thought it made the most sense,” Brooke supplies weakly, “seeing as how we have a history.”

Michelle nods. “I get it, but it just didn’t work.” She looks at Asia. “What did you have to say about all that?”

Asia shakes her head. “I trusted my sisters. They said they could handle it and I believed them. You can’t fake the kind of chemistry that Vanjie and Brooke have. I just wish it had translated better.”

“Mmm,” Michelle agrees. “Or at all.”

“You didn’t think maybe it would be too much like art imitating life?” Ru asks, gesturing between Brooke and Vanessa, who are both looking anywhere but at each other. “Ex-lovers playing lovers? That’s…” He chuckles, but there’s little joy behind it. It’s cold, even for Ru. “That’s playing with fire, kids.” 

“I wouldn’t even have cared if it worked,” Ross says gently. “Play with all the fire you want, burn the stage down, but give us _something._ ”

“Ross will be hearing from our union representative. Thank you ladies.”  When Ru glances over at Nina, the corners of his mouth tick upwards, but only slightly. “Nina West.”

“First of all…” Michelle kisses her fingers like a chef. “This gown? _Gorgeous_. Hair, perfection. You look _stun-ning_. But that performance, girl…” 

Nina nods. “I know.”

“Last season, every acting challenge you were high-larious. What happened?”

“There’s been a lot going on -” Stay vague, sis. Don’t be the one who throws people under the bus. You just fixed whatever was broken between you and Cracker. “I don’t think I’m settled in yet.”

“Settled in,” Michelle repeats blankly. “How many episodes of All Stars do you think you should get to settle in?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean -”

“You looked pretty settled in when you almost won last week,” Ross says.

“This is the best of the best,” Ru says, eyeing Nina. “What you brought last week was what we want, what you have on tonight is what we want, but all of you girls need to figure out whatever these personal issues are because I don’t have time for them. This is not - and I repeat, _not_ RuPaul’s Best Friends Race.”

Nina nods. What else can he do? He tells himself not to look at Monét, not to see how he’s taking this - but Nina’s eyes immediately betray him. Monét’s perfect pink lips are pressed tight together (and, _Christ_ , he’s even prettier than Brooke is in purple) and his hands are gripping the armrests of his folding directors’ seat.

Monét’s worried. _Shit_.

The judges move on to Miz Cracker, who looks like a purple technicolor acid trip of _Alice in Wonderland_. It’s Nina’s favorite thing on the runway, if he’s being honest.

Michelle peers over the top of her glasses. “Can you guess what I’m going to say?”

“I look damn good, but why the fuck wasn’t I funny?” Cracker deadpans. “Yeah, I don’t have an excuse. There obviously was some tension between Nina and myself, I take responsibility for that, but I apologized and we worked through it. It’s not going to be an issue anymore.” She offers her hand to Nina, who takes it and squeezes gently.

Ross shuffles his cards. “You looked amazing in the film, though. It was cast quite well.”

“Thank you. Blair and I switched roles last minute, so that’s comforting to hear.”

Ru nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns his attention to the third member of their group. “Well, I do declare!”

Blair has gone full Scarlett O’Hara realness for this runway, hoop skirt and all, and Nina and Cracker are at least five feet away from her out of necessity. The lilac taffeta falls in tiers from her fitted bodice and cinched waist. Blair’s hands are folded daintily, the white lace gloves accentuating how tiny her hands actually are. If Vivienne Leigh had a 19-inch waist, Blair’s can’t be a centimeter over 19 and a half.

Blair is smiling, but it’s porcelain, like the slightest jolt will shatter her.

“Blair St. Clair!” Ross starts with a big smile. “Is that really you in there?”

Blair does a cute little curtsy, bending as much as she possibly can in that corset.

“I love it, I love it, I love it,” Ross says. “That dress! I feel like I’m getting the vapours just looking at you, I need a fan.”

Blair—shockingly enough—has a pale violet fan hanging off her hip, almost completely hidden by ruffles. She pulls it off (“Catch!”) and tosses it toward the judges’ table while Ross claps in delight. (The fan goes pretty off course, hitting the edge of the table and ricocheting toward the ground in front of the stage. A crew member grabs it and brings it to Ross who fans himself dramatically.)

“What else is hidden in those ruffles?” Ru quips.

“A lady never tells,” Blair laughs softly.

“So yes - you look the part,” Michelle says, bringing them back on track. “But Blair. Honey. What was going on in that scene?”

The smile drains from Blair’s face.

“You showed up on set looking terrified. When I watched the scene tonight, that’s what came across the most for me. That fear.”

Blair nods. Her shoulders start to sag.

“You’re an actor. We know you can act. Do _you_ know you can act?” Ru asks.

“Yes.” Blair doesn’t sound confident. “I just - got in my head this challenge. And then we switched roles—”

“So whose idea was that?” Ru interrupts.

Blair’s lips part. Nina has this horrible thought that Blair might say it was his idea, like an act of sabotage or something - when really, he was just trying to help. He really, really didn’t want to throw Blair off her game—

“It was mine,” Blair says. Nina exhales silently. “I thought it’d be better for the whole team, but I don’t know if it worked out that way. I think it shook me. I’m sorry.”

“You still look terrified,” Michelle says. “You’re clearly gorgeous, clearly talented. I want you to see that too, Blair.”

“I do. Or I thought I did, I guess I’ve still got some - work to do.”

“Thank you, Blair.” Ru’s voice is gentle. “Based on the judges’ critiques, I think we all know there was a clear winning team this week.” He pauses for effect, looks between them before settling his gaze on the three queens closest to the judges’ panel. “Shea Coulee, Ivy Winters, Nina Bo’nina Brown - condragulations! You are the winning team. But two of you really proved to us that _Ru_ is the warmest colour... Shea Coulee. Ivy Winters: you are the top two All Stars of the week.”

Ivy cheers and hugs Shea, the two of them spinning briefly in place. Nina’s heart is fully in his throat, he may not be able to breathe soon.

“You’ve each won a $2,500 gift card to Wigs and Grace and a $1,000 gift card to Coolhaus Ice Cream.” Shea and Ivy embrace again, a little less excited by their ice cream prize. 

Ru continues, “Nina Bo’nina Brown, you are safe. Team Vanessa Vanjie Mateo: ladies, you are all safe.”

Blair flinches besides him, and Cracker doesn’t even blink. She was clearly steeling herself for this moment. Nina wishes he had. There was just some stupid optimistic part of his brain that couldn’t even go there, that thought they had a chance—

“That means Team Nina West: I’m sorry my dears, but _all three_ of you will be up for elimination. Shea and Ivy: each one of you needs to decide which of the bottom queens you will eliminate _if_ you win the lipsync.” 

Okay. Okay. It happened. Just - keep it together, don’t think about last season, don’t think about the moment they told you _you weren’tgoodenoughtoSTAY_ —

Nina looks up briefly from his super-fun shame-spiral and catches Vanjie’s eye down the runway.  The sweet thing gives him a wince of empathy, and Nina winces back. 

“While you deliberate backstage,” Ru continues, “the judges and I will... learn macramé.”

The safe queens laugh, but Nina is wobbly on his heels, moving on autopilot to the backstage lounge. His brain doesn’t start working until he’s sitting on the couch with a cocktail in his hand, Blair and Cracker wedged beside him.

Brooke has disappeared (for a cigarette probably) and Vanjie is off somewhere talking to Asia, rolling her eyes and bobbing her head, clearly pissed off.

“Yay…” Cracker says dryly, “I blame the lesbians for this. Control your children, Brooke Lynn.” She tacks on that last part loudly, like if she yells enough, Brooke will hear her wherever he is.

“Girl, they’d probably enjoy that too much,” Shea says with a smirk, and Nina laughs (even though there is glass in his mouth). He feels mostly _okay_ about his chances of staying. He does have a win to his name after all, and Cracker was safe last week.  But Blair… Well, she’s crying silently, furtively wiping away tears. They can all see the lipstick writing on the mirror (it might be in Blair’s handwriting).

“Do any of you—” Ivy begins, before Shea stops her with a hand on her arm.

“I’d like to talk to Ivy, actually. Other than that, I’m good. Unless any of y’all really want to - you know, make a speech or something.”

So that’s how it’s going to be. Nina has a speech running through his head, his track record on the show, his win last week - but he’s surprised by Blair shaking her head ‘no.’ Cracker looks over sharply at that, hesitates - and then shrugs.

“I can cry real tears if you need me to,” she says to Shea. “But if you’re good, I’m good.”

Both Shea and Ivy look at Nina.

“I mean…” He shrugs. “You guys are in charge.”

“Great!” Shea says and grabs Ivy’s arm before pulling her to the back of the room, where they lower their heads and begin to speak quietly. 

Blair sniffs and dabs at her eyes. “I didn’t need to talk to them. What’s the point, you know? But I would like to talk to the two of you… if… I could.” Then she’s fully crying. “I just need a minute.”

Nina puts his arm around her, pets her hair while she breathes. It’s probably a moot point; it’s still early, but they all know how this works. 

Miz Cracker sits next to Blair, lacing and unlacing her fingers, not looking at either one of them. Until she does. 

“I’m really sorry,” Cracker says, holding Nina’s gaze over Blair’s head

Nina shakes her head. “We’re good, I told you.”

“Yeah, but…” She sighs. “What Ru said about personal bullshit getting in the way… That was all me. I was angry with you when I shouldn’t have been and now we’re in the bottom—”

Blair raises her head and looks both of them over with swollen, red eyes. 

“—and it’s really _my_ fault. And fucking Monét’s—”

Her diatribe stops and she looks wide-eyed at Nina, who is still holding Blair’s hand, rubbing soft circles through the white lace glove that adorns it.

“Can I ask you…” Nina pauses. “What, um, _exactly_ was Monét supposed to tell me?”

Miz Cracker shakes her head, trademark blonde curls bouncing across her shoulders. “No. I’m not touching it anymore. I can’t. If that idiot has something to say to you, he’ll say it on his own time.” She decisively smooths an invisible wrinkle from the front of her purple tea-length gown and folds her hands in her lap. But Nina notices that her thumbs never stop twitching. 

“No matter what happens, I hope—” Blair clears her throat and takes in a deep breath, which she releases as a shaky sigh. 

Nina shakes his head. “Blair, you don’t—”

“Wait, wait. Just listen.”

Both Nina and Cracker shut up and look at her.

“It’s going to be me. We know that.”

“Blair—” Cracker tries again.

“I was in the bottom last week. We know. Okay? We know.” Her bottom lip trembles but she straightens her shoulders, nods decisively. “I just want to say, you were great teammates. Like really, really - nice.”

Now Nina thinks he might start crying. No. NO. Keep it together.

“And I really like working with you.” Blair smiles sweetly. “Miz Cracker, you’re so funny, and I’ve looked up to you for so long. I can’t believe I got to work with you again.”

“Blair—” Cracker starts, but her voice breaks.

“Nina, you’ve taken such good care of me this whole time.  You really looked out for my feelings, and you were so sweet.” Blair squeezes Nina’s hand. “And I just really hope everything works out for you and Monét.”

Nina chokes a bit. But so does Cracker (great, they’re more in sync now than they were during the challenge).

“Sorry, _what_?”

“Oh, are you two - not -” Blair blinks her eyelashes, looking at Nina in shock.

“No, nope, we’re not,” Nina says quickly. “Nothing - happening there. No ma’am.”

Blair watches him for a moment, and then narrows her eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” _What is even happening?_ Vanjie and Brooke are the bad actors, Nina is Oscar-caliber. Is he losing his touch? Or is it just where Monét is concerned (and God, wouldn’t that be a nightmare)?

“Okay. Just - I thought. You know, from this whole conversation. And the way he looks at you.”

Cracker makes another choking sound, and Blair snaps her mouth shut. 

“Never mind. I must have - gotten confused. Sorry. Forget anything I said.”

“Except for when you said how great we are,” Cracker amends, pulling Blair into a hug. “You can’t take that back. I need this.”

Nina is grateful that Cracker always seems to be able to make Blair smile, and Team Cheerleader hugs it out. Moments later, Ivy and Shea come back from whatever corner they were hiding in, each of them looking grim. Before they’re all led back onto the mainstage, Vanjie grabs Nina and squeezes his hand.

“It ain’t gonna be you, girl. Keep it on-lock, you’ll be fine.” 

The other queens have similarly encouraging things to say to Cracker and Blair, and Brooke even goes in for a hug before the crew comes to get them.  Then they’re on stage again, lights so bright they’re making Nina feel dazed.

Don’t look at the mentors, he tells himself, and this time he listens. He’s too embarrassed - can’t possibly think about meeting Monét’s eye right now. (Here I am, totally fucked and on the verge of going home. Still glad you picked me?) 

“Welcome back,” Ru says as the lights flash. “Two top All Stars stand before me. Ladies, this is your chance to impress me, win ten-thousand dollars, and earn the power to give one of the bottom queens the chop. The time has come for you to lip-sync. For. Your. Legacy.”

And for _my_ life, Nina thinks to himself. Oh God, he should have poured his heart out to Shea and Ivy, should have told them how much he wanted this, should have—

“Good luck. And don’t fuck it up.”

The opening beats of the Eurythmics’ “Sisters Are Doin’ It for Themselves” start and Shea immediately starts ripping off the train of her dress. The queens around Nina lose their minds.  Ivy got changed into a spangly cocktail dress for the lip-sync, but Shea kept her original gown - except now it’s been turned into a sexy purple bathing suit, and she looks stunning. Nina can’t say he’s in the headspace to pay much attention to anything that’s happening on stage, but the other queens and the judges seem to be cheering with every move Shea makes. Ivy’s classy and quirky but she isn’t the dancer that Shea is.  She can’t command a stage in the same way.

Nina focuses on breathing. Focuses on not falling over. Stares at the crumpled heap of Shea’s train, purple fabric stretching down the runway, while somewhere in the background Ru cheers with delight.

This can’t be the end. Not yet. Not yet.

Nina blinks and somehow the lip-sync is already done. As the music fades, he feels Blair’s hand slide into his. He forces himself to stay present, pay attention.

“Ladies, I have made a decision,” Ru says as Ivy and Shea catch their breath, both of them looking hopeful. “Shea Coulee, you’re a winner baby. You’ve earned a cash tip of ten thousand dollars. That means that Chad Michaels - you’re also a winner. You’ve won a cash tip of five thousand dollars.”

There’s some cheering from the mentors, but Nina barely hears it over his pounding heart.

“Ivy Winters, you are safe. You may join the other girls. Will the bottom three queens please step forward?”

Nina walks forward in a daze, Blair’s hand still held tightly in his. After a moment at centre stage, Cracker reaches down and takes his other hand. 

“Shea Coulee. With great power comes great responsibility. Which queen have you chosen to get the chop?”

Shea sighs, but doesn’t draw it out more than she has to. “I love this queen and this ain’t personal.  I made this decision based on past performances, so I’m sorry, I gotta go with Blair.”

She takes Blair’s lipstick out of her neckline. Nina hears Blair take a deep breath beside her. 

“Blair St. Clair,” Ru smiles sadly, “as it is written, so it shall be done. You are and always will be an All Star. Now sashay away.”

Blair straightens her shoulders. She looks up and smiles brightly. She seems to Nina the most confident and beautiful she’s been since they first started filming.

 “Thank you so much for another opportunity to show you and the world who I am. I’m going to keep growing and getting better, and I’m going to make you so proud of me.”

Ru nods, Michelle smiles, and Ross might wipe away a tear, but Blair’s eyes are dry as she hugs Nina and Cracker, then turns and walks down the runway. 

She pauses before leaving and strikes a dramatic pose. “With God as my witness, I’ll never be eliminated from _Drag Race_ again!”

Everyone laughs, genuinely laughs, because Blair _is_ funny when she can relax and be herself. Nina’s hands are shaking as Cracker slides over and wraps her arms around his waist.

_Safe safe safe safe safe._

“Con-drag-ulations, All Stars,” Ru says cheerfully from the judges’ panel. “And, remember: if you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else? Can I get an amen? Now let the music play!”

Nina is dancing but his heart is pounding as loudly as the music. Relief is making him dizzy and the flashing lights aren’t helping matters. Cracker hugs him again and he’s so damn grateful for that, just to have someone anchor him to the earth for a moment. He knows the mentors are probably coming up on stage, but he doesn’t see Monét in the crush of queens around him. It’s fine. It’s good. He’s in no fit state to try to impress anyone right now.

Nina’s one of the first to leave the runway, and he knows he’s got to go get changed, get ready for his talking head interview (which is going to be - let’s not kid ourselves - _intense_ after this elimination), but he still finds the first quiet spot that he can, ducks behind one of those tall tool boxes full of set pieces or cords or _something_ and just lets himself shake. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  He’s here, he’s here, he’s got to calm down—

“Nina? Girl, hey now—”

Nina looks up (even though he doesn’t need to, would know, _has known_ that voice in the dark) as Monét comes closer to him, eyes full of concern. 

“I saw you tear off that stage, knew you were feeling some kinda way. And if you want to feel your feelings by yourself, if you need a minute, I get it. But listen - you’re still here. Okay? It was awful, but it’s one challenge, and you’re still here.”

Nina nods, but he can’t stop having flashbacks to Season 11, can’t stop remembering the depth of the hurt and disappointment when he was sent home. He feels like his heart is already in shards just from anticipation, and it’s hard to remind himself that it’s actually still intact. _He’s still here._

“I know. I know. I’m sorry–” Nina tries to catch his breath, tries to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. This version of himself is the last thing he wants Monét to see.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Because I’m on your team, and - this challenge should have been easy for me, for us—”

“Nina West.” Monet’s got his serious face on, something Nina hasn’t seen much of yet. “This mentor shit don’t mean anything to me, okay? You think I need twenty-five K so bad? Nah, girl - with this voice? With this _ass_? Nah.”

Nina feels a laugh rising tightly in his chest. Monét deserves a fucking medal for trying to make him feel better.

“Don’t worry none about me. Jesus. You put this challenge behind you for yourself. You move forward and win this crown for yourself.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I _don’t_.” Monét’s voice goes a bit too loud, and he stiffens as they both realize it. His eyes are on Nina’s, and Nina realizes he’s holding his breath. This - what is -

Monét exhales a weak laugh and Nina feels the ghost of it against his lips. “Shit. I mean - I’m allowed to have favourites, right?” 

It’s so sweet and ridiculous that Nina’s face breaks into a smile, and as he does he feels the slow slide of a tear down his cheek. Wonderful. Fantastic. Could he be more pathetic?

Then Monét is reaching out, wiping the tear away with the soft pad of his thumb.

“Hey, now. No crying, Jean Grey.” Monét’s voice shakes, and he doesn’t drop his hand. His fingers stroke gently along Nina’s jaw, angling his face up and into the dim light. Studying it like it’s a priceless piece of art.

Nina feels - something strange happening in his stomach. Like he might be sick. Or maybe can’t breathe? It’s tough to say, so he says nothing - just stares at Monét and tries to keep his heart beating (but at least if he drops dead now, his face will still be warm from Monet’s hands. If he dies, he’ll still have had someone look at him, just for a moment, like he was a masterpiece).

Monét’s mouth opens, and Nina’s eyes drop briefly down to his lips. His lips are something else, just - devastating. 

They should kiss, maybe.  That would be - would be okay. 

Even if Nina ruined everything after the finale, maybe - maybe Monét would still want to kiss him (Nina remembers the taste of his mouth, remembers how soft it was, how desperate it made him feel, pressing kisses against his neck, chest, hip—)

That’s when a couple of electrics coming stomping through, hauling lights.

Nina flinches. Monét drops his hand. Steps back. 

Nina tells his heart - in very strong words - not to punch its way out of his chest.

“I’m - uh - anyway. You gonna be good?”

“Sure,” Nina says, still trying to remember why breathing is important. Was that - something? Had that been something? Or was he just -

“And I’m sorry about Cracks.” Monét keeps talking, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. “It’s kinda my fault that - she was all in her feelings.”

“Oh. Really, it’s okay, we talked it over. I think we’re cool.”

“Shit, thank God. I was worried that she was gonna be like this for the rest of the season.  Couldn’t resist the Nina West charm, right?”

“Actually –” Nina’s mind skips carefully over the ‘Nina West charm’ bit. There are some things he cannot survive. “She said this thing - you should probably know about it - I think she might be angry at _you_ now?”  

Monét looks carefully blank. “Really.”

“She seemed - when we talked about it - upset about something you didn’t do? Or didn’t say, actually. She said she thought you were going to tell me something.”

Monét makes a soft noise from deep in his throat, like a ‘huh’ sort of sound but if you were also choking.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. Doing real good.” 

Nina doesn’t need to say anything else, and he doesn’t really want to know - but he also kind of wants to know (he also still kind of wants Monét to kiss him, to touch his jaw again and lean forward and just—)

He clears his throat. Don’t think about kissing. “What were you supposed to tell me?”

“Oh, I—” Monét hesitates. Just for a second.  But Nina notices. Then Monét smiles, radiant and white (and just off enough to clock the flaw). “I have no idea. But I’m sure that bitch will have no problem sounding off at me about it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Nina isn’t going to push. Not right now. 

“Well, maybe I gotta go do some damage control,” Monét says with a laugh that sounds brittle. “Congrats on making it through another episode, Nina West. Always knew you would. One step closer to that finale, right?”

“Right.” Nina forces himself to breathe, to smile, to watch Monét walk away. 

It seems to Nina that as Monét walks down the hallway, he’s almost walking to a beat. As if there’s low music playing in the background, like the strumming of some stringed instrument.  Nina can almost hear it.

“Was that a moment?” Nina murmurs to himself, and then - no.  No. Oh shit, he’s singing.

“ _Did we have a moment?_

_Was that a moment right there?_

_Or am I overthinking everything,_

_Always in my head_

_But that felt like a moment_

_With your hand on my skin._

_If I could only speak_

_I’d ask you what it meant.”_

Monét doesn’t turn around, doesn’t hear him (thank God) because Nina can’t stop the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“ _And I don’t know why I can’t just say what’s on my mind._

_And I don’t know why I can’t just ask you what you’d like._

_It seems as if we talk so much but never even speak._

_And all we have are pleasantries_

_The_ _**hi, how are you’s** _ _, I can’t breathe_

_With all this silence rising like the sea.”_

He stops. Takes a breath. He can still hear music.

“ _But that felt like a moment,_

_An honest moment just then_

_It felt like something real, maybe_

_A little more than friends._

_Did we have a moment_

_When you touched me like that?_

_I’ll press it between pages_

_And then play it, play it back._

_And I don’t know what you’d do if I said_

_How I feel._

_Maybe you would laugh at me_

_Say none of it was real._

_Or maybe you’d be kind_

_Oh God, the worst thing you could be_

_With all these little tragedies_

_The walls I’ve built in front of me_

_Are falling to the ground now_

_Just like leaves.”_

The chords swell just like the rate of Nina’s pulse when Monét touched his face. 

“ _But was that a moment?_

_It felt like a moment to me.”_

Music crashes like waves, builds like a barricade, and Nina holds his breath against the weight of it.

“ _Was that a moment?_

_Could it ever be?”_

Then he pauses. What do you do in this situation, what do you say? Do you make the first move, risk your dignity? Or do you convince yourself that it’s just in your head? (He thinks and thinks and overthinks before the song continues.)

“ _That wasn’t a moment._

_Okay, fine, we touched_

_But you’re like that with everyone_

_You’re lovely and beloved_

_That wasn’t a moment._

_Please don’t let me fall.”_

Nina breathes between his clenched teeth before he sings the final line: 

“ _That was nothing at all.”_

The music fades out, giving Nina just enough time to wonder if he should seek professional help before Monét is walking quickly back towards him. Nina can’t move, can only stare in shock.  Monét probably didn’t - hear any of that, right? That was just another one of Nina’s weird musical fantasies that started up when he got that All Stars call (he really should probably talk to someone about that, to be honest.)

“I almost forgot,” Monét says under his breath (while Nina tries not to get too distracted by the way his lips form the words), “ and you didn’t hear this from me. But, girl, you better make sure that wig’s taped down for the next challenge.”

Nina lifts his hands to his hair - it’s fine, it hasn’t shifted at all.  

“What?”

“From what I hear, it might get _snatched_.” Monét winks before he walks away again, and Nina - _oh_.

Shit.

It’s time for the Snatch Game.

* * *

_Interlude: Monét, finale night_

  
  


“So like - girl. Okay. So.” 

Monét runs his hand over his bald head, desperate for something to do with his hands. His face is done but he hasn’t put his wig on yet, is waiting for the last possible minute (this one bugs him, and he really should get rid of it, but it was stupid expensive and he’s still kinda wearing it out of spite).

Anyway.

“So this might sound funny. You might think this is crazy - shit.”

He swallows. Breathes, and tries again.

“I’m gonna sound like a stalker, maybe - but - ”

“Oh. My. _Jesus_.” There’s a pounding on the bathroom door and Cracker’s voice echoes in the room. “Your phone is out here, who the hell are you talking to? Do you have a burner phone in there? Are you calling your secret family?”

Monét hears Bob’s loud laugh in the background and winces. 

“He’s secret straight, I’ve been tellin’ you this whole time. Got all these side-chicks.”

“Monét!” Cracker knocks again.

With a sigh, Monét cracks the bathroom door, peering into the room where his two friends have been waiting, already dressed and a couple of drinks in (okay, fine, it’s finale night - Monét might also be a couple drinks in at the moment). Bob’s boyfriend is there too, all suited up with his hair pulled back - and if he looks a bit like Cracker out of drag, well, no one’s going to mention that.

“Will you just stop?” he hisses at Cracker. “I’m trying to work out how I want to… You know…” He widens his eyes at her, praying she’ll get the hint. They talked about it at lunch a couple days ago. She knows better than anyone else what Monét is planning. 

“Oh shit,” Cracker mumbles. Then a smile graces her features. “Oh _shit._ Tonight? Okay, then. Werk. Glad you’re finally taking my advice.”

“Girl, we would have left your ass and gone down to the bar if we knew you were going to hide in the bathroom all night, practicing your Oscar speech,” Bob shouts at him. Doesn’t matter what the size of the room is, Bob has one damn volume setting. “You’re _giving up_ your lame-ass Miss Congeniality trophy, remember? Not accepting a new one.”

“Fuck off.” Monét gives up on hiding, comes out of the bathroom to hunt for the bottle of whatever everyone else is drinking.

“It’s not his Oscar speech that he’s practicing,” Cracker sing-songs, raising an evil eyebrow as she sinks back onto the loveseat.

“You can fuck off, too.”

“Ooooh!” Bob says with exaggerated delight. “ _That_ speech. Tonight’s the night, huh? Okay, well. Let’s hear it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Monét rolls his eyes.

“Speech, speech, speech!”

“Fuck _off,_ Bob.” 

“Listen, I’ve been waiting for you to put the moves on one Nina West for two motherfucking years now.” Because Bob always knows what her sister needs, she produces a bottle of tequila from behind her back and hands it over to Monét. “Or have you forgotten the reason your sorry ass was in Columbus to begin with on that fateful weekend?”

Monét takes two (larger than necessary) drinks and replaces the cap. Liquid courage or some shit. “Yeah, okay. I was with you, taking care of you, like always. Never forget.”

Cracker reaches over for the bottle. “So what are you going to say?”

“I don’t fucking know. I didn’t exactly get that far.” Monét sighs. “Everything I come up with makes me sound like a stalker.”

“I mean…” Bob shrugs. “If the size 12 Pleaser fits…”

“Fuck _off,_ Bob!” Monét grabs his wig and marches over to stand in front of a mirror, trying to position the piece correctly. Maybe he spends a little more time on it than is absolutely necessary. Maybe he’s trying to avoid anymore teasing from Bob and Cracker. Eventually, he can’t stall anymore, so he pats it down one final time, fluffs out the bits above his ears, and swivels around, gold sequins casting light around the room.

Cracker’s smiling at him. “You’re stunning.”

“You ain’t gotta tell me, bitch. I been knew.” Though (don’t tell Cracker, it’s nice to hear).

“Soooo…” Bob says slowly, drawing out the syllable for far too long, watching Monét carefully as he reapplies his lipstick. He could do that downstairs, but honestly he likes annoying Bob. “How are you gonna do it?”

“Do what?”

“Woo Miss Nina West. Seduce her. You gonna buy her a drink at the after party? Tell her you’ve been stalking her online like a crazy bitch ever since you saw her in Columbus back in 2017 but didn’t have the guts to say anything?”

“Don’t even -”

“Or tell her you, like, were all lovelorn and shit for the entirety of Season 11? Tell her how many watch parties you dragged me to just to catch a glimpse of that ass?”

“Bob,” Cracker says, a warning in her eyes.

“Or maybe you’ll lay on that ex-Miss Congeniality charm? You know she’s probably gonna take your crown this year, right? You gonna ask her to come upstairs so you can show her how to properly polish the trophy? Oh, Jesus, won’t that be annoying. Two of you.” Bob scoffs.

Monét rolls his eyes. “ _If_ I make a move on Nina West, it’s none of your goddamn business how I go about it, Roberta.” He grabs his earrings off the table, fixes them to his lobes. “Now. Can we please go before I’m late to my own give-up?”

Bob holds up his hands in surrender. “ _Fine._ But you better clear the air tonight. It’s been _how long_ now that you’ve been fucked up about her? It’s getting embarrassing -”

“Bob, drop it,” Cracker says, all low and soft in that voice she reserves only for Bob. Whatever they had together was a long time ago, but they still definitely know how to press each other’s buttons. It’s usually annoying. Tonight, Monét is grateful.

Bob and his boyfriend trudge ahead with little regard for Cracker and Monét as they walk to the elevator, but Cracker turns to Monét and grabs his hand. “Hey. Ignore him. He’s… You know.”

Monét nods. “I know.”

“I’m proud of you.” Cracker smiles. “Like - get it, girl. Took you long enough. And then you can introduce us. I always thought Nina and I would be friends.”

“Don’t go crazy now. Nothing’s happened yet. I don’t even know what to say.”

Cracker shrugs. “Just… be you. You know, everyone loves you so just… Go with that. Trust your gut.”

So Monét does. 

He also trusts champagne and tequila, and wonder of wonders, it seems to fucking work. Nina laughs and banters and smiles at him, gorgeous and glittering with alcohol, and for once in his damn life, Monét feels like this is something that’s supposed to happen. Like he’s in the right place at the right time and this is a sure damn thing.

So he invites Nina back to his room (put that speech on the back-burner, girl, just for now) and Nina says “yes.” 

Jesus of all Christs.

As Monét walks back up to his room, his final remaining braincell (listen, he’s had some drinks) thinks it’s a good idea to text Cracks: “It’s HAPPENING!!!!!!!” like some sort of schoolgirl. She responds immediately with the eye-roll emoji and several eggplants. Whatever, she loves him.

He gets his paint off, gets changed - wishes he had time for a shower, but the last thing he wants to do is miss Nina’s knock. It feels like a lifetime and also thirty seconds before Nina shows up outside his door still in his paper-doll pink, and it’s ridiculous and adorable and hot as hell, and the rest of the night just - disappears. 

_Magic._

So clearly the last thing he’s thinking about is giving Nina West this like - awful crazy-bitch speech about maybe having a crush on him for longer than he should’ve. The alcohol helped him not think about it too much (and Monét’s a damn over-thinker. He might not seem the type but that’s ‘cause he makes flawless look so easy, child). The next morning (afternoon), there’s no alcohol left in his system to blame and Monét has to - as they say - step his pussy up.

So he asks Miss Nina West out for lunch. 

He’s as cool and casual as he possibly can be when what he really wants to do is just roll back under the blankets with that man, but - lunch, first. Then - his stupid ass speech. Then, hopefully - the rest. Like, rolling around in blankets, a relationship, a proposal somewhere down the line, a minivan and four kids and white picket fences... All that good stuff (Jesus Christ, calm your tits girl).

He might fucking floss after Nina leaves, might spend a bit too long moisturizing.  Whatever, it’s nothing. He’s not building this up in his head or anything, he’s just - making an effort (Nina West is the reigning Miss Congeniality okay? Monét ignores the fact that he’s the reigning All Stars champion).

And when he goes down to Nina’s room, clutching the rest of the clothing Nina left behind, and running over his dumb-ass speech in his head (“This probably sounds - stupid, okay, but I saw you at this show back in Ohio two years ago - no, don’t laugh, it was a good show, you looked good, and I remember - I thought -”)

But Nina doesn’t answer the door.

Monét waits a bit, knocks again.

No one answers.

Fuck. 

He wishes he’d gotten Nina’s phone number, because maybe he’s gone out, or had to meet up with someone, or is in some hotel room holding back Brooke Lynn’s hair as the queen cries out her broken heart (Monét ain’t blind, right? He knows what that shit looks like). Or maybe Monét got the numbers wrong (that was _a lot_ of tequila), and this ain’t Nina’s room.

Shit.

Or maybe -

Nah, nah, he won’t go there. Nina West is not the kind of person that would ghost someone. Monét’s sure. 

Pretty sure.  

No, there’s no way.

He can’t wait in the hallway all day looking like some sad-ass puppy, so Monét folds the rest of Nina’s clothing, stacks it outside his door.  Then he impulsively decides to leave his number as well. (Nina could get his number, right? From so many other queens, so Monét has zero chill, but fuck it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained or some other cliche bullshit he read on a cross stitch sampler at his Nana’s house.)

In his hand, his phone buzzes with a text from Cracker.

 _Bitch where are you??? Let’s do lunch. I need to know allllll the details!_ Then another eggplant Emoji. And the water droplets, which Monét thinks is just crass, but whatever.

 _Meet me in the lobby_ , Monét fires back as he turns around and walks back down the hall toward the elevator. 

There’s an explanation, he’s sure of it. 

He allows himself to entertain the idea as he rides the elevator down to the lobby. Nina will text, apologize, they’ll work things out, get them sorted. Everything will be fine in the end.

Monét has burned red-hot (silently, from a distance) for Nina West for way too long. 

There’s no way it’s going to end like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The audio for this song will be posted on our Tumblrs soon!


	6. to wish, to want, to wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: The runway was purple, but Blair's Scarlett O'Hara realness wasn't enough to save a poor performance and she was sent packing. Brooke and Vanjie are (most definitely) probably still messing around, and Nina and Monet had a moment backstage when Nina narrowly avoided elimination. Or was it a moment? Oh, and Nina's probably losing his mind.
> 
> To come: Katya, Snatch Game, a hotel bar date, and a musical number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaaaack! Hi hello how are you? LIFE is crazy. We're so sorry it took so long to get this chapter to you guys, but honestly, Snatch Game was probably the hardest thing we've written. It's hard to be funny. I'm going to be way nicer to queens who do badly on Snatch Game from here on out because it's not easy, mama. Anyway. We hope you enjoy this SUPER MEGA SIZED CHAPTER (10.5k!) to make up for the super long hiatus. And hopefully we'll be back with more very soon.

Nina wakes up and is still on Drag Race.

He might be having some kind of a nervous breakdown (and breaking into song periodically) but that’s showbiz, kid.

And now it’s time for the fucking Snatch Game.

Shower, shave, dress.

Prepare for another sloppy Branjie moment in the elevator (and thank God, Nina gets to avoid that for a change). Nina Bo’nina is riding down alone, and the two of them chat distractedly on their way to the conference room.

A few of the mentors are there, but no Monét and no Trixie.

Nina tries not to let that bother him as he nibbles his toast and drinks his coffee. He’s focused this morning, ready for whatever happens next. He’s been thinking about Snatch Game since the moment he got the _All Stars_ call, is determined that this is going to be his challenge (of course, he might have had that thought about the last challenge too… No, nope, move the hell on, girl.)

Nina doesn’t see Brooke until they film the Werk Room entrance. The man looks exhausted. There are circles under his eyes that the makeup guy has done his best to cover, but it’s still obvious Brooke is not at his best. It makes Nina remember that - no matter how stupid the Canadian is being about Vanjie (and no matter what sort of history he has with Nina’s equally stupid heart), Nina still loves him. Will probably always love him in some kind of way.

“No coffee this morning?” he asks quietly as they’re waiting to get mic’d.

“Not enough.” Brooke pulls down his hideous knitted beanie (where the hell does he keep getting those? A P.A. should - frankly - take them away.)

“Have a late night?” Nina doesn’t really want to know, but if Brooke needs to talk about it -

“Oh no. No. Just - thinking.” He rolls his neck. “Like - we know what’s coming up, right? And last season - it wasn’t my best look.”

Nina barks out a an embarrassingly loud laugh. “No kidding.”

“You didn’t have to find it _that_ funny.”

“It’s pretty funny.”

“You’re a dick, you know that? No matter how sweet Monét thinks you are.”

This makes Nina stop laughing. “Sorry - what?”

“He was just going on about you when he was watching Asia film our scene last episode. Like - ‘try this, Nina does this, blah blah.’”

Nina doesn’t know what to think about that. It makes him feel a bit warm and light-headed, but absolutely incapable of responding.

“Clearly you’ve got her fooled. I know what you’re really like.”

“Haha, yeah.” Nina’s voice is weak and he hopes to God Brooke doesn’t immediately clock his blush. Luckily, Vanjie chooses that moment to start flirting with the sound guy, and Brooke’s attention is suddenly elsewhere. Yes, yes, that’s good. Nina will have to keep Vanjie close by at all times, just in case he needs to distract Brooke.

They all romp into the Werk Room together, Shea and Asia working their few seconds in the doorway for all it’s worth (“pose for me, pose for me, POSE”). They talk a bit about Blair going home, but before they can say much about it there’s the sound of a video message, and the television flickers to life.

“Ladies,” Ru’s face comes onto the screen. “I picked you queens for All Stars because you represent the best of the best. But on second thought… I think I’d like to see some other queens in your place. Sorry, not sorry.”

The video ends.

“What the hell does that mean?” Shea asks.

“Nah, nah.” Vanjie is shaking his head in denial. “We don’t need no more hos up in here. We got too many of y’all already.”

“Hello, hello, hello!” The door opens and Ru comes into the Werk Room, followed by the mentors. Nina tries to smile and look as excited to see Ru as he’s always supposed to be, but - he can’t help being worried about whatever the hell twist is coming up. (Monét winks at him as he comes in, so that’s something. Nina will keep that one brief moment like a diamond in his pocket.)

“Ladies, for this week’s maxi challenge, it’s time for another All Star Edition of _Snatch Game_!”

Most of the queens around Nina are delighted - except Brooke. Nina can see him smiling, but it’s fragile and fake, and his arms are folded very tightly around himself, legs crossed at the thigh even though he’s standing; a clear indication he’s stressing.

“This time, however, to celebrate my recent single ‘Queens Everywhere’— available now on iTunes—we’re going to do things a little bit differently. I know you’re all amazing queens, but for this Snatch Game, I’d like to see if you have any other queens inside you.” Ru raises a suggestive eyebrow. “Not to give Miss Vanjie an unfair advantage.”

Vanjie’s jaw drops even as he laughs, mutters “shade” through his perfect teeth.

“For this Snatch Game, I’m asking you to channel one of your sisters. We’ve had a lot of iconic queens on this series, so you’ll have plenty of personalities to choose from. And luckily you’ve got some experts here for inspiration. Hashtag _Snatch Game All Stars_. Gentleman, start your engines. And may the best All Star... win!”

“The fuck?” Vanjie whispers to Nina as soon as Ru leaves. “Bitch, I had a damn plan. I brought the little gold trophies and everything. Watched all the fucking movies. Now I got to be one of y’all’s tired asses? That ain’t fair.”

“Trophies, like - you mean Oscars?”

“Sure, whatever.”

Nina has to admit that he’s kinda thrilled about this twist. He’d been telling anyone who will listen who he was going to be for the Snatch Game if he ever got another chance. He’d had a couple back-ups, of course (they’d all been told to bring a former queen, so honestly, they should have seen this coming from a mile away), but this really couldn’t have gone better for him.

He feels bad for some of the other queens though, especially Vanessa (the bitch was prepped to do Meryl Streep - Brooke’s idea, and a fucking hilarious one. He’d kill to see it).

“X-Queens assemble,” Monét calls over at him, and Nina pats Vanjie on the shoulder, goes off to sit with Monét and Asia.

Monét looks good. Real good. He’s in some loud patterned sweatshirt that has tiny slices of pizza all over it, and another pair of thick-rimmed glasses (white, or maybe baby pink?), and he’s smiling at Nina like - no, nope. Move along.

“It’s actually the Avengers that assemble,” Asia tells Monét, who rolls his eyes at her.

“Girl, you can’t be a bigger nerd than me. I won’t accept it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause knowing about the Avengers is real obscure, serious fan-only shit.”

“The shade, Miss Asia! Nina West, are you going to defend your mentor?”

Nina holds his hands up. “You’re the fearless leader, you got this.”

“The pair of you.” Monét shakes his head. “All right, what you got for Snatch Game?”

“I’ma be _Brown Cow Stun-ning,_ yes, honey.” Asia pops her tongue after a pretty admirable impression of Monique Heart.

“And Miss Nina West?” Monét is looking at him with an eyebrow raised. Nina wonders if he’s heard the interviews, if he already knows.

“Miss Vaaaanjie,” Nina says, “ _Bitch, you know I don’t play games. Don’t play Monopology, Uno, Twistah, Tag, Marbles -”_

“Jesus Christ, stop it.” Monét is covering his face with his hands, while Asia is cackling. “Does she know?”

“Not yet.”

“She will _live_. Okay, okay, I ain’t worried about either of you. Take me straight to the finale, win me that serious mentor coin.”

They run through a couple ideas for jokes, focusing more on Asia (who struggled last time and still has a bit of anxiety flaring behind her contacts). There’s a break for lunch, but it’s weirdly quiet, subdued. Snatch Game is an opportunity to stand out, to prove you deserve to be there. It’s also an opportunity to crash and burn in front of Ru, the judges, and later on - the world. So there’s that.

After lunch everyone starts putting on their paint, fixing their wigs. The cameras zoom in to get some Werk Room chatter about who is playing who, and of course they’re all dying for Vanessa’s reaction (as soon as he sees Nina pull out his pink-petalled Barbie-head dress from its garment bag, the pussycat’s out of the Prada bag).

“Noooo, bitch,” Vanjie shouts across the room, but he’s smiling. “Oh, I’mma have to whup your ass if that’s what I think it is.”

“ _Deuces_!” Nina shouts back at him, throwing up the sign as well, while Brooke covers his face.

“That ain’t right, it ain’t right. Thought we was friends, sis.” Vanjie is laughing about it, though; Nina knows they’re cool.

“Who are you playing, Miss Shea Coulée?” Asia calls over to her sister, who is fussing with a nasty looking green wig.

“Paaaarty…” Shea drags out the word, working that vocal fry for all she’s worth. “I’m going to be Adore Delano, darling.”

Nina Bo’nina Brown thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, can’t speak for laughing so hard. Shea seems entertained by it at first, but her smile starts to tighten a little after the laughter continues a bit too long.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just - good luck, girl.”

“Who are you doing then?”

“Yeah,” Cracker interjects. “You were Jasmine Masters for your season’s Snatch Game right? The judges loved it.”

“Right. So why mess with perfection? I’m going to do Miss Jasmine Masters.”

A couple of the girls stop what they’re doing when she says this.

“You’re going to play the same queen?” Cracker repeats, a bit shocked.

“Yeah. I was sickening last time, I’ll be sickening this time.”

“Aren’t you worried that they’ll read you for not showing them what else you can do?”

“Nah. They’re gonna be laughing too hard.”

“Mmmm…” Vanjie makes a low, skeptical noise.

“Trust and believe, Vanjie,” Nina B. calls over to her. “Trust and believe.”

The cameras have to reset then to film Ru’s entrance into the Werk Room, and catch all the queens’ “surprised” reactions.

“Hello hello hello, kitty girls!”

Nina beams, claps his hands, that whole production. He’s feeling pretty good though - the energy is real. He’s actually excited for this challenge, ready to show Ru what he can do. (That’s how he felt last year too, then Silky went and yanked the win right out from under him. But no time to dwell on that now.)

“How are my All Stars? I thought I’d take a little look-see at what you were planning for us. And I brought along one of our extra special guest judges to help me out.”

From behind Ru, Katya Zamolodchikova comes in waving and smiling, teeth glowing white against her red lipstick.

“Oh my god! Get your own thing!” Trixie yells from across the room, and Katya does that ridiculous/adorable silent laugh that Nina has seen on “UNHhhh” too many times to count.

“Thanks for coming, Katya!” Ru says cheerfully.

“No problem, Ru. Thanks for unlocking the attic door!”

“Well, it was a special occasion. And I was feeling generous.”

They go from station to station, cameras following them around silently, and Nina fusses a bit with his dress while eavesdropping on their conversations with the other queens. There is a bit of concern for Brooke, who’s playing Detox (no big surprise there). _How is Brooke going to make Detox funny_ seems to be the main issue. Nina has the same question. Brooke seems more confident than last season, though, so Ru and Katya wish him luck.

There’s some controversy over Nina Bo’nina playing Jasmine again, but the girl won’t be convinced to try something else. Nina listens to some of the critiques, ignores some of the others. He’s interested, but he also knows he needs to focus on his own performance, and not get in his head. He’s not as bad as Brooke at over-thinking things, but no one goes into goddamn musical theatre who isn’t at least a little bit destroyed (psychologically speaking. Okay, maybe also a bit romantically. It’s fine).

“Nina West!” Ru says close to Nina’s ear, and he almost jumps a foot in the air. (Girl, Katya is standing four feet away from you, be cool, be cool.)

“Hello, hello, hello Christine,” he says, immediately launching into his Vanjie impression. Both Ru and Katya laugh - and Katya’s smile up close is completely unfair, like a smile cut out of paper, perfect and sharp-edged.

(“I don’t know her!” Vanjie shouts from across the room.)

“So who are you going to be?” Katya asks, completely straight-faced, as soon as she and Ru have stopped laughing.

“I don’t know, still making up my mind,” Nina says, back in his normal voice.

“And the uh -” Ru gestures to the hideous floral Barbie dress, “gown?”

“Do you like it? One of my best gowns. What’s funny?”

Katya is wheeze-laughing. _Katya is wheeze-laughing because of something Nina said!_ He stores that one next to the Monét gem from earlier; hopes to have enough for his own tiara in the unthinkable event that he doesn’t win.

“Now on Season 11’s Snatch Game, you were hilarious, you played -”

“Harvey Fierstein and Jo Anne Worley-”

“Yes! And really, it might have been one of the strongest performances in Snatch Game herstory.”

Nina smiles gratefully (only slightly furious that Ru’s saying this despite the fact that Nina didn’t win. He _deserved_ to win).

“So how can you possibly outdo yourself this time?”

“I’m not trying to outdo myself, I’m trying to do something different. Like Katya, when you played Björk -”

“Yes, yes, back to me,” Katya says, nodding.

“Completely different from Suze Orman, but still so funny. That’s what I’m going to do. Just - mix it up.”

“All right, Nina, good luck. Can’t wait to see it,” Ru says, moving on.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

As soon as Ru and Katya leave the Werk Room it’s a mad dash to get dressed and made up and before Nina knows it, before he can light a bunch of candles on an altar and find whatever religion will bring him the most luck, they’re all being rounded up and led into the studio for the Snatch Game.

Okay.

Okay.

Brooke’s Detox look is iconic, the yellow and black striped bandage dress from the Season 5 premiere (probably borrowed from Detox herself) hugs his perfectly padded body, but he’s absolutely trembling as he walks beside Nina. Nina has to squeeze his shoulder, tell him it’ll be fine.

“It’s fun, Brooke. Just have fun with it,” he murmurs as he hits the bright studio lights, has to blink until his vision adjusts (the first thing he sees is Monét and Nina’s blinded by him).

Okay.

The mentors are sitting along the sidelines, ready to watch the show play out. Nina wasn’t expecting that, but it’s - fine. Monét smiles at him, and Nina’s going to use that smile as a good luck charm - a rabbit’s foot, a four leaf clover, whatever. It’s impossible not to feel lucky when someone who looks like Monét goddamn X Change smiles at you like that.

“Welcome to the first All Stars ‘Queens Everywhere’ Snatch Game!” Ru says after they’re all mic’d and seated, upbeat music playing behind him. “Let’s meet our contestants.”

Katya beams from where she’s sitting behind her glittery podium and microphone.

“It’s everyone’s favorite queen that we found digging in the dumpster outside - Katya!”

“And yet I’m _still_ hungry!”

Katya smiles at Ru and then snaps her teeth at the other queens.

“And - just when you thought we’d finally seen the last of her - _halleloo_! It’s Shangela!”

Shangela raises one hand in the air, nodding seriously. “That’s right, I’m back again, bitches. And I ain’t even in a box this time, baby.”

“Ladies, are you ready to meet the queens?”

“Yaaaaaaaaaas,” they answer in tandem.

They reset so that Ru can film the introductions, and Nina’s heart starts rattling like bones in a bag. He’s buzzing with adrenaline and nerves, but he’s going to channel that into a goddamn win. That’s right, he tells his inner saboteur - you can fuck off. This challenge is mine.

“The heart of Season 10 - Monique Heart is here!” Ru starts with Asia, whose Monique look is extremely correct.

“Hello world! Hello America! Are you brown cow stunning?” She tosses Ru a ridiculous cow-patterned baseball cap. Ru briefly feigns excitement before throwing it over his shoulder in distaste.

“Burn that,” he murmurs to one of the camera crew. “Next up, we have the original party-queen - Adore Delano!”

Shea Coulee stretches her arms in the air before making a peace sign, growling “Party,” in a gravelly voice.

“How are you doing Adore?”

“I mean, I’m good, you know? Like. Excited to be back. Where am I again?”

Nina has to turn his mouth into his shoulder to stifle the laugh that bubbles to his throat immediately. He wasn’t sold on it when they were discussing it in the Werk Room, but Shea is _killing_ it as Adore. Her voice, her delivery is hilarious. The makeup is flawless. Her perpetual open mouth is complete perfection. As always, Shea Coulee is slaying the competition. Nina’s stomach gives a nervous jolt, so he sucks in a deep breath and reminds himself to pay attention.

He realizes he’s missed Ivy’s introduction, but Katya is _gagged_ at the illusion of, well - _Her_ \- that Ivy is turning today. A mid-length honey blonde wig barely brushes Ivy’s shoulders and her red bustier is covered in rhinestones (and, of course, the scythe and hammer.) The look is great. The accent, on the other hand… Nina sighs a little, but tries not to get comfortable, regardless of how terrible Ivy’s Russian accent is.

Vanjie is seated at the end of the top row, decked out in red lace, a large pair of dark sunglasses balanced precariously on her nose. There’s no denying the air about her: Miss Vanjie is living Miss Valentina’s French vanilla fantasy, and no one could doubt it.

Ru beams at him. “Valentina! How wonderful to see you again!”

Vanjie draws in a deep breath. “That’s right, Ru, it’s me - Valentina. I’m back, and this time, I just want you to know, I fully learned all the words to ‘Greedy.’”

“Excellent! You want to sing us a verse right now?”

“No,” Vanjie answers, extremely primly, and even in his gravelly voice, the delivery is enough to make Ru laugh.

“Maybe next time.”

“Probably not.”

Then Ru’s looking at Nina and - _oh, god, why did he think coming back for All Stars was a good idea again?_

“Miss Vaaaaaanjie is here!” Ru trills.

Nina sucks in a deep breath and - “What’s the grease, mama?”

Down the row, Brooke buries his face in his hands, but his shoulders bounce with laughter. Ru is giggling loudly. Even Katya and Shangela are agape at the spot-on impression like it’s the first time he’s done it, the first time they’ve heard it.

He lets himself relax a little.

“Three seasons in a row.” Ru consults his cue cards. “Girl, aren’t you tired of competing yet?”

“Mmhmm.” Nina shakes his head vehemently, the wig he pilfered from Vanjie weeks ago flying around his shoulders. (He really does owe Brooke one for that.) “Nah, girl, you know I’m still trying to get my own show. Like Vanjie of Love or some shit like that. You know, something where these _triflin’ hos_ gotta pay me some damn attention.”

In his periphery, Nina catches Brooke cut his eyes to him. He hopes this is okay. They haven’t really discussed the Branjie territory in regards to his jokes, but he kind of assumed it was fair game. Besides, he isn’t planning on directly hurting anyone’s feelings. He’ll keep it light, keep it fun. Besides, _they’re_ the ones who marketed their portmanteau and gave the profits to charity. It’s practically public domain at this point.

“Next up we’ve got - oh my goodness, it’s Jasmine Masters!”

Nina Bo’nina gives Ru an extremely “over it” look. “Yeah, and I got something to say.”

“Now Jasmine - no tea, no shade, but haven’t you been on Snatch Game before?”

There’s a bit of an awkward pause before Nina Bo’nina waves him away.

“Bitch, I’ve got something _more_ to say.”

Ru chuckles a bit, “I bet you do,” and moves on to Brooke.

“Another former All Star contestant, welcome Detox!”

Brooke looks sullen and concerned. He gives a little nod at Ru and the contestants.

“Detox, what’s the matter? You don’t look happy to be here.”

“Oh, am I not smiling?” Brooke asks through his extremely full, painted-on lips. “I can’t feel anything above my neck.” He shapes his mouth into a grotesque smile using his hands, and Ru almost doubles over. Okay, okay. Nina feels a little less worried about Brooke.

“And last but not least, we have - um, Aquaria! Hey girl!”

“Hi Ru!”

“Aquaria, is that the new way you’re spelling your name?” Cracker has written _Acwareea_ on her name-card _._ A couple letters are backwards.

“Huh?” Cracker looks down at the name card. “Oh, I can’t spell my name. Actually, I can’t spell anything.”

“Okay then.”

“You know, some girls chose to read books, I chose to turn looks.”

“Yeah, you did! Now let’s get ready to play the Snatch Game!”

They break for a few adjustments on the cameras and microphones, and Nina tries not to hyperventilate, and then fuck - they’re rolling again.

“Here we go. The first question is for Katya. Katya, All Stars Season 1 paved the way, and brought back some of the most celebrated queens of all time to compete. This time, instead of competing in pairs, the queens are competing in BLANK.”

Be funny, be funny, be fucking funny. Nina tries to think like Vanjie and writes down an answer as soon as he’s got one, hoping it will be good enough.

“Okay, pens down. Katya?”

“I said competing in traction.”

“In - traction?”

“Yeah, you know, when all the bones in your body are broken and you’re in the hospital bed with your leg in the air.”

“That would certainly be a different kind of competition.”

“I’d watch it,” Katya says seriously, and Ru laughs.

“Let’s go to the Queens and see if we have any matches. Miss Valentina. What did you write down?”

Vanjie has put a lace mask on over the bottom of her face. She mumbles something indecipherable.

“What was that?” Ru asks. Vanjie mumbles something again.

“Valentina,” Ru says, clearly picking up on the joke. “Take that thing off your face.”

“I’d like to keep it on please.”

Ru shakes his head slowly, and at last Vanjie removes her mask.

“Now, Valentina. What did you write?”

Vanjie flips her card over, and Ru starts to wheeze with laughter. “That’s what I wrote down. _I’d like to keep it on please._ “

Vanjie’s Valentina voice is slipping, but she’s hella charming anyway, as always.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but that is not a match. Moving on to Aquaria - oh! You’ve got a new outfit.”

Miz Cracker was scrambling to put on a new wig and geometric headpiece made of iPhones while Ru was speaking to the contestants. She looks great, and she’s killing Aquaria’s affected head wobble.

“This season the queens are competing in BLANK.”

Cracker flips her card to reveal Aquaria’s instagram URL. “I wasn’t born when All Stars Season 1 aired, so I just wrote this.”

“Oh, okay - not a match.”

“I’m young,” Cracker insists, and Ru nods, patiently.

“We all were once. What did Miss Vaaaaanjie have to say?”

“I said we’d have to compete in swimsuits,” Nina says, flipping over his card.

“Swimsuits?”

“Yeah. Cause maybe then Michelle won’t read my ass for filth every damn week.”

Ru gapes at him, like he can’t believe he just came for Michelle in Snatch Game.

“Swimsuits be glamor when everybody else is doing them too, bitch!” Nina pops his tongue.

Ru laughs, high and clear, and then turns to the other Nina. “What about you, Jasmine? What do you have to say?”

Nina Bo’nina slaps her hands on the table and purses her lips. “We gonna be competing in making viral videos to get Justin Bieber’s attention, Ru.”

The room — pauses while Ru tries to save face with a polite chuckle. Nina West can practically hear the shade rattle sound effect that will inevitably be edited in at this exact moment.

Jasmine Masters probably wasn’t Nina Bo’nina’s best option (anyone could have told her that and, good god girl, they _really_ tried). It’s not working. Nina doesn’t think any of it’s working.

Ru clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m certain you could teach them a thing or two about that, but unfortunately, it’s not a match.”

Nina Bo’nina shrugs.

Ru shuffles his cue cards and moves on. “This next question is for Shangela. In All Stars Season 2, we changed things up by letting the queens choose who would be eliminated. This season, as well as eliminating each other, the queens will have to BLANK each other.”

There’s the scribbling of markers from the queens around Nina (who like to think he’s got this answer down blind.)

“Okay, pens down. Shangela? This season, the queens will also have to...”

“I knew what y’all were looking for, because y’all are nasty...” Shangela turns her card around. “But I’m a lady, so I said they’d have to ‘tuck’ each other.”

“Tuck each other!”

“Sometimes a girl needs a helping hand, mama.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Let’s see if we have any matches! Katya, what did you say?”

Ivy looks a bit startled to be called on first, but she beams with her red lips, flips her card over. “I said eat each other. To consume each other’s power and fill the gaping void that lives -” She pats her chest. “Right here.”

Katya (the real Katya) shrieks, but Ru shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, that’s not a match.”

“ _Da_ ,” Ivy says solemnly, in her terrible Russian accent. “ _Da_. It never is match. Like me and Trixie. Match but… No match.”

And, okay, Nina might imagine it, but it seems like the studio goes eerily quiet as everyone waits for Trixie’s reaction. She’s smiling, but it looks forced. Katya clears her throat but laughs, which seems to dispel the weird tension that formed.

Ru, oblivious to the entire thing, moves on. “Miss Vaaaanjie, what did you say?”

Nina sighs and flips his card, feeling pretty pleased with himself. _“_ I said _date_ each other. You know, I still be lookin’ for that _Notebook_ shit.”

“Oh yeah, we know. No more Post-Its, right?”

“No more Post-Its, never again. I ain’t got the time, Mary!” He glances over at Brooke, raises his eyebrows seductively. “Hey, how you doin’?” Behind him, the real Vanjie mumbles something under his breath.

“I’m sorry, my dear, that’s not a match.”

“Bitch, it might be!” Nina says, still looking at Brooke, and Ru bends over laughing, stomping his foot into the ground. It’s adrenaline, it’s power, it’s like Nina _knows_ this challenge is his.

“You ain’t even know!” he continues, channeling angry Vanessa as much as possible. “Just ‘cause one tall blonde bitch did me wrong don’t mean they all will. Shit.” Nina crosses his arms over his chest, leans back in his chair, sees Brooke duck his head and blink rapidly a few times.

That might have been too much. He just got caught in the moment and… _Fuck._ Dial it back a little, but stay focused.

“Moving on to Aquaria,” Ru says. Aquaria, this season the queens will have to BLANK each other.”

“I said ‘copy each other,” Cracker says tightly, in Aquaria’s low voice. “And it’s too bad Miz Cracker isn’t here. Maybe then she would have won something.”

“Oho!” Ru laughs, a bit scandalized. “Not a match, my dear.”

Cracker shrugs and throws the card over her shoulder. “Someone save that so I can call and ask Cracker if she wants more of my sloppy seconds.”

“Adore Delanoooo!” Ru trills the last syllable as he turns to Shea, who tosses the long green waves over her shoulder.

She flashes Ru one of Adore’s signature winking, mouth-open, tongue-out smiles with a peace sign.

“What did you write down, darling?”

“I said ‘party with each other,’” Shea drawls in Adore’s affected tone, adding more fry than is entirely necessary, but it gets the point across. She’s goofy and perfect.

“Party with each other,” Ru repeats.

“Yeah! I mean, you guys all look super cool. I’d hang out with you, smoke a blunt, eat some pizza. You know, party!”

Ru tsks. “Sounds like a great Tuesday night, but unfortunately not a match.” He turns to face the contestants, where Katya is sitting with her hands folded primly on her stack of cards. “Back to Katya! In All Stars Season 3, BenDeLaCreme shocked the judges by sending herself home. This season, Michelle Visage will shock everyone by BLANKING herself.”

Katya takes a minute to ponder, pressing her index finger to her lips then writes something on her card. Nina and the other queens follow suit, and when their time is up, Katya is smiling ferociously.

“Let’s see what our contestant put down. Katya?” Ru faces her. “Michelle Visage will shock everyone by doing what?”

Katya clears her throat. “I could have gone the obvious route, you know.”

“Obviously,” Ru says.

“Instead, I said, ‘sacrificing herself.’”

“Sacrificing herself?”

“With fire. To the Gods, honey.”

“Okay... Any particular God?”

“...Satan.”

“Of course. Let’s go to our queens. Detox, this season Michelle Visage will shock everyone by…”

Brooke flips his card over. “I said motorboating herself. I mean, if anyone could do it -”

“I don’t know how shocking that would be… but either way, I’m sorry, not a match. Vanessa Vanjie Mateo! What did you say, my dear?”

Nina flips over his card. “I said cloning herself.”

“Cloning herself?”

“Mmm-hmm. Need two of her to manage your ass.”

Ru laughs, and Nina thanks every God he knows the name of. The burn landed!

“And now she got that done, she’s gonna clone me some Canadian bacon.”

“Is that right?”

“Hell yeah it is.” Nina does not look at Brooke or Vanjie. “But only the good parts, baby. Trim all the fat; I’m a growing girl, need more protein in my diet.”

“Bitch, you couldn’t handle that much protein,” Vanjie-as-Valentina cuts in, and Ru fans himself.

“A controversial question! Let’s go to Monique Heart, see what she said. Michelle Visage will shock everyone by…”

“I said believing in herself.” Asia-as-Monique-turns her face to the camera. “Like I believe in myself, America. And that’s why I’d like to take this moment to announce my run for office.”

“Which office is that?”

“Whichever.” Asia’s got Monique’s flighty passion down perfectly. “One of the big ones, you know. And thank _you,_ America, for your trust. I won’t let you down.”

Ru reads the last question of the night. **“** In All Stars Season 4, history was made when we celebrated the first _Drag Race_ double crowning. This season, we’ll be making history with a double BLANK.”

Shangela is already shaking her head knowingly. There’s a scrabble of writing from the queens.

“Ladies, pens down. Shangela?”

“I’m giving the people what they want, Ru. I ain’t proud. I had to say a double fisting.”

“Did you really _have_ to say it though?”

“Actually, mama, I did. The PAs have my children.”

“Ha! All right ladies, let’s see if we have any matches. Adore Delano. This season we’ll be making history with the first double BLANK.”

Shea holds up her card proudly. “I said the first double... elimination.”

Ru is quiet for a moment. “That’s actually been done before.”

“It has?”

“A couple of times, actually.”

“Oh.” Shea is unfazed. “Well. I don’t watch the show.”

Ru wheeze laughs, and so does Nina.

“I mean, I don’t know who any of you people are.”

“Sorry, Adore. Not a match.”

Shea shrugs, flashes a peace sign.

“What about you Katya?” Ru moves over to Ivy.

“Well, I thought about what Trixie and I like to do behind the scenes of ‘UNHhhh’ and I just had to put - fisting!” She flips her card.

“It’s a match!” Ru exclaims.

Everyone is laughing, but Nina can’t help check out the subjects of Ivy’s joke. The real Katya Zamo is smiling but - her teeth look clenched. And over with the mentors, Trixie Mattel is not smiling at all. She’s staring at her hands in her lap, systematically picking at the baby pink polish that adorns her fingernails. Hopefully none of the cameras pick up on that.

“I’ll see you later tonight!” Ivy continues, pointing at Trixie. There’s a halfway amused smile on Trixie’s face right away, but Nina feels like he was punched in the stomach. Something’s going on between the two of them, clearly. It hurts to watch - not like watching Vanjie and Brooke hurts (that’s more like watching two attractive bricks smash together). But Trixie and Katya - there’s so much history there. So much darkness. And God knows enough people have been convinced they’re in love -

“Monique Heart, what did you put down? This season we’ll be making history with the first double BLANK.”

“I said the first double crowning, dahling.”

“I’m sorry Monique, we already did that as well.”

“I know y’all did it, but I feel like it didn’t really count because my ass wasn’t wearing one of those crowns. It should have been me, and that’s a fact, America. And facts are - what? Facts.”

Ru laughs for a moment before turning to Nina. “What about Miss Vaaaanjie?”

“I said the first double wedding. And before y’all even ask: I do.” Nina glances over at Brooke, hoping he isn’t hitting this note a bit too hard.

“You do? Who’s the other happy couple?”

Ivy interrupts before Nina can answer. “Trixie! I’ve been meaning to ask you!”

“Oh honey,” Trixie calls out, looking flushed and uncomfortable. “I know I said I’d give more to charity this year, honey, but my generosity has limits.”

Behind her podium, Katya’s face is absolutely expressionless.

“Well, queens, we’re out of time,” Ru announces. “Which means the winner is… Xanax! Talk to your pharmacist. See you next time on the Snatch Game!”

Nina throws ‘deuces’ at the cameras as they get some closing B-roll, keeping up his Vanjie-persona until the very end. As soon as the director yells “cut!” Nina lets out the breath he’s been holding for the past two hours. God, it went by fast, but now he’s feeling every second of it. His muscles ache like he ran a marathon this morning and then tried kick-boxing for the first time.

“Nice work, ladies,” P.A.’s are congratulating them as they leave the set, but Nina barely hears a word. He de-drags, does some of the talking head interviews he loves so much (has to look shady about Nina B.’s performance, and worried about Brooke. Nina doesn’t put on an act or anything - he is kinda worried about Brooke. Brooke did ‘okay’ - better than Celine for sure - but didn’t stand out the way some of the other queens did. And if Brooke goes home tomorrow night - fuck. Nina doesn’t quite know how he feels about that).

Brooke was also kind of weird as they took off their paint in the Werk Room. Nina thought at first that he was in his head about the Snatch Game, but now he’s starting to wonder if his answers as Vanjie might have fucked Brooke up a bit. He hasn’t had a chance to address it, but he’s going to have to tomorrow, just to make sure they’re cool. He thinks it will be okay. He’s pretty sure. Basically. Almost positive.

Nina might be working through some latent confidence issues as he pushes himself for four miles on the elliptical later that night in the hotel (work _through_ the pain, he reminds himself), but it’s fine really. Nothing to see here. Move along.

His legs ache and his face drips sweat, but he feels—good, actually. Solid about his performance. (He did last year, too, but he’s trying not to think about that.)

Dolly is singing about ways to make a living in his ears. He’s not _assuming_ \- but he is preparing. Just in case. If he has to lipsync for his legacy, he wants to be ready. Wants to win this one more than any other challenge, and call him crazy, but he feels like there’s a real chance. He can’t pinpoint why exactly, but there’s some kind of feeling settling down into his bones, making him think that maybe maybe _maybe—_

Underneath that, something uncomfortable has wormed its way into his psyche. It has almost nothing to do with the actual competition. It’s stupid and predictable and oh-so- _not_ what he should be concerned with while on the set of _All Stars_ for Christ’s sake. But he is and he’s here and he’s feeling _things_ , and Nina taught himself a long time ago that feeling things fully for a while and then letting them go is far more beneficial to his mental health than taking the Brooke route and bottling everything up and burying it under vodka cranberries and couch cushions.

So sure. Okay. He’s feeling some kind of way about this _thing_ that he saw that he wasn’t even supposed to see and isn’t even any of his business, but that’s just Nina’s luck for you. So that’s what he focuses on (or tries not to) as he turns up the resistance and pushes through the last of his workout.

He’d risked a glance back at Monét right before the PAs had shoved them off the soundstage. He’s in the business of gem collecting now, savoring those moments, polishing them up for later use, and maybe he wanted a ruby tinted the exact shade of Monét’s lipstick as they’d smiled across the room at each other.

Instead, he’d seen Monét reaching out to Shangela, crimson lips puckered, arms outstretched, ready for the kiss Nina couldn’t make himself watch.

Maybe they had kissed, Nina didn’t know; he’d made himself turn away before he could inflict any more psychological damage on himself. (He’s choosing healthier options now, remember.)

Of course they hadn’t had a moment after the last runway. Why would he think that? When Monét could have anyone he wants, and Nina is practically an amorphous blob. Like. He knows drag queens are all touchy-cuddly most of the time, and he knows that there’s probably nothing going on between Monét and pretty, perfect, halleloo-ing Shangela. But there could be, right? And goddamn, that would actually make sense. As opposed to whatever madness was going on in Nina’s head last night.

He adds even more resistance to the elliptical - just for “fun.” Or maybe spite. And yeah, okay, one night of really solid work in the hotel gym isn’t going to turn him into Naomi Smalls with legs up to his asshole or anything, but it’s a start. And the sooner Nina can convince himself that he isn’t doing this for Monét (or anyone other than himself because he _likes_ exercise, damn it), the better.

He’s a grown-ass adult. He recognizes delusion when he sees it in the mirror every morning. It’s time to face facts—he and Monét had one (wondrously) sensual, albeit (incredibly) drunken night months ago. Monét had left the ball in Nina’s court. Nina was too chickenshit to do anything about it. Now they’re tentative friends (Monét is his mentor after all), Nina might be going crazy (this whole bursting-into-song-but-not-really thing has gone too far), and it’s all just so _messy_.

Nina wipes his face, stretches, and heads out of the hotel gym. He probably looks like a sweaty disaster (okay, there’s no ‘probably’ about it) and he’s waiting for the elevator down to the floor with his room, when the doors “ding” open and he’s face to face with Monét.

Could be worse. Could be Branjie again.

“Get in loser, we’re going drinking!” Monét says, with a wide smile on his face.

He’s so fucking charming that Nina momentarily forgets that he himself is a hot damn mess. Literally, like hot. Dripping with sweat.

“Um.” He gets into the elevator anyway because - he’s gotta go somewhere. “Are we?”

“If you want.” Monét gets strangely shy as soon as the elevator doors close. Or maybe that’s just in Nina’s mind. “Was the _Mean Girls_ reference too much? I feel like maybe it’s played out.”

Nina laughs out loud, awkwardness momentarily forgotten. Monét never seems anything but confident and composed, and that one moment of doubt is - surprisingly endearing.

Not that confident, composed Monét isn’t completely endearing as well. Like. It’s all good. It all works a little too well for Nina. Everything about Monét is working a little too well for Nina lately.

Shit, the elevator is moving, decision-making time is limited.

“I kinda look like - this?” Nina waves a hand at his damp self.

“Fine as hell, girl,” Monét says with a grin, “and no pressure, obviously. Though if I’m drinking alone at the hotel bar, it’s going to look a little sad. And, look, I can make sad work for me, that’s not a problem. But after the day I’ve had -”

“Oh, the day _you’ve_ had. Yeah, I forgot how stressful it must have been. Competing on a reality show and all that.”

“Fuck off. Uh oh, we’re passing your floor -”

“How do you know which floor is mine?”

Monét blinks at him, briefly speechless, mouth agape. (It makes something spark like a firework in Nina’s chest, shoot colours across the night sky.) The moment passes and then Monét doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, just smiles like a gorgeous monster as he taps his temple. “That’s classified mentor information.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. You _don’t_ want to know about my top-secret dossier.”

“No, I - don’t.”

“You sure you don’t?” Monét winks at him, and the elevator dings as it reaches the ground floor. “Ah, shit, missed your stop. Better come do shots with me.”

“I mean, I could just press the button again.” Nina doesn’t know why he’s resisting, he wants to get tipsy with Monét more than he wants to do most things (aside from win _All Stars_ and run for office someday maybe).

“Nah, girl, this elevator only goes down. One-way elevator. Sorry, should have told you.”

“Guess I’m out of options.”

“Guess so.”

They look at each other. Nina remembers the man that asked him up to his room the night of the finale. Nina remembers the taste of his mouth, the way Monét kept kissing him, like he couldn’t get enough. Nina -

\- is clearly exhausted. And still delusional. But fuck it.

They go to the hotel bar (isn’t this how all the bad stories start?) and Monét buys them both a tequila sunrise and tells Nina way more than he should about Trixie Mattel.

“So her man and her are split. She’s feeling some kind of way about it.”

“Of course she is. Haven’t they been together for, like, _ever?_ ”

“Something like that. _Fuck_.” Monét drains his drink, motions for another round. “We’ve been talking about it, but I’m not - you know. I love her, she’s incredible, but - I’m not - her best friend.”

“You’re not Katya,” Nina says quietly, and Monét scrubs his hands over his face.

“Yeah. That.”

“So why isn’t she talking to Katya, then? You guys have your phones; Katya’s here now, for Christ’s sake.”

Monét shrugs. “Beats me.”

“Are they -” Nina doesn’t have any right to this information, but - he figures that Monét wants to talk about it. “Potentially... do you think -”

“Who the fuck knows? Honestly, when I said I’d come back to do this show, I did not think it would be like being in high school again. Like who is crushing on who, who is hooking up, it -” He darts a look over at Nina and then snaps his mouth shut. “I mean.”

Nina looks away. Finishes his second drink a bit too quickly. “You want another?”

“Okay,” Monét answers before Nina can even finish the sentence.

The bartender is particularly attentive, gets another round in front of them right away. He’s got a lot of smiles for them both, says, “This round’s on me, I’m a huge fan,” as he walks off to help another customer, and Nina - can’t help it, he’s a masochist - raises an eyebrow at Monét.

“Think you’ve got an admirer.”

“Yeah?” Monét rolls his eyes. “More like _you_ do.”

“Should we turn this into an awful romantic comedy where we make a bet about who he likes more?”

Monét laughs like he’s shocked at himself. “Girl! Okay, but what happens at the end? Who wins?”

“Well, if we’re following the formula, we probably both realize that real love was right in front of - you know, I don’t know. _You,_ you win.” Fuck fuck fuck, what the hell is Nina even saying? He watched too many Hallmark movies last Christmas. “That voice, that ass, right?” He tries to make it into a joke, even with Monét’s eyes all honeyed and serious on his face.

Monét purses those perfect lips, presses them into a semi-smile. “Just… didn’t want to assume nothing.”

They talk for another couple drinks, and it’s - shit, it’s easy. It’s never this easy with someone Nina likes. He knows he can be funny, knows he can bring out the charm (with the right amount of alcohol in his system) but usually if there are _feelings_ involved it all goes to hell. Nina gets weird and in his head and laughs too loudly and spills his drink everywhere.

But with Monét - it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be this easy, especially with all the longing covering up the background like terrible flowered wallpaper. It shouldn’t be this easy for Nina to stop over-thinking things and just exist in the presence of this gorgeous person.

But it is. It is easy. That’s the worst part of it all.

Monét is laughing and grabbing for his arm (just like finale night in the other hotel bar) and there’s heat in Nina’s cheeks that isn’t just from the alcohol, and Monét’s lips are glistening and wet as he pulls the straw between them and sips every last bit of the cocktail into his mouth.

Nina swallows thickly, leans into the sound of Monét’s deep rumbling laugh, reaches for his knee when he starts to slip off the hotel barstool.

How many drinks are they in now? Four? Five? More? The room is spinning.

Nina is laughing. Light, airy. Not giggling exactly but laughing and his cheeks are burning and Monét is looking at him through narrowed eyes.

“Be careful, Nina West,” Monét says, and his voice is low and dangerous. “Be careful lookin’ at people like that. They might get… ideas.”

Nina’s breath hitches in his throat and he swallows hard. “Ideas?”

“I might get ideas.” Monét smiles crookedly; his eyes are half-closed and sleepy as he rests his chin on his hand and leans against the bar. “You never texted me.”

Nina’s so glad he’s drunk. So glad he missed his floor, even if it has led to this. Because this conversation, this thing has hung between them for the entirety of filming and it hasn’t been uncomfortable exactly (because they’re _adults_ , thank you very much), but it hasn’t been wonderful either. And Nina more than anything wants to rewind back to May, go to lunch, talk about anything and everything and nothing with Monét until they fall back into hotel sheets and kiss and kiss and kiss until—

“Why didn’t you ever text me?”

Nina clears his throat. “I was… I… I wanted to.”

“But?” Monét’s eyes are wide and pleading now. Still glassy with the alcohol, but inquisitive, bright, waiting to see how Nina is going to explain himself.

Nina is too, to be honest.

So he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Honestly. I don’t have a good reason. I wanted to. I should have.”

Monét ducks his head, takes the paper straw from his drink and twirls it between his middle and ring finger. It sends tiny droplets of tequila sunrise all over the wooden bartop.

“I thought about that night a lot, Nina West,” Monét says quietly, wiping at the droplets with a damp beverage napkin. “I don’t _do_ that. That’s not like me.”

“Me either,” Nina says.

Nina knows that if they were sober this would be a very different conversation. There would definitely be more emotions, there might even be some yelling (although that doesn’t really seem like Monét’s thing and he’s never been one to raise his voice, so maybe not). Either way, they aren’t sober, and now they’re the sleepy kind of drunk and exhausted, so they just sit there at the bar staring at each other, not sure what to say next.

“Why’d you pick me?” Nina finally asks. “For the competition? Because of… that night?”

Monét shrugs and pulls his credit card out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Just wanted to win, girl. That’s it.”

“Shit, I don’t have—”

Monét waves him off. “I got it. Consider it after-hours mentoring.”

Nina thanks him repeatedly as they stand (clumsily) and make their way out of the hotel bar (stumblingly) and back to the elevator. When the doors shut behind them, Nina has a brief flash of all the things that two consenting adults can get up to in an elevator (some of which he has seen in recent days). But no. No. They had their chance, right? The ship has sailed.

Nina’s room is a few floors beneath the mentors’ (apparently), so he steps off before Monét.

“Can you find your way back to your room?” Monét asks, and Nina wishes he could says ‘no. No, I’m going to get completely lost, no, I’ll fall down every two steps if I don’t have you holding me up. No, I need you to linger in my doorway, I need to panic about whether I should try to kiss you goodnight, I need to think about inviting you in.

(I wouldn’t. Of course I wouldn’t. So - unprofessional. But - it’d be nice to think about.)’

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I’ll manage.”

Monét grins. Nina likes to think there’s a bit of disappointment around the edges of it, but he’s also a couple drinks in, and wears the rosiest of glasses at the best of times.

“Thanks for the company and conversation, Nina West.”

Nina nods. Doesn’t touch him, doesn’t look over his shoulder at Monét as he leaves the elevator.

But he doesn’t go back to his room either.

He wanders the hotel. Presses the down button and gets on a different elevator a few minutes later.

Nina’s going to regret this tomorrow when he’s exhausted, but he just can’t imagine shutting himself in his dark little room and lying down right now. He’s vibrating, on edge. It’s a bad idea, because there’s nothing more depressing than a silent hotel after midnight - something about the lateness of the hour makes all the shine come off. Nina’s feet lead him down one hallway and down another, and he doesn’t realize he’s heading to their usual breakfast-conference room until he hears… music?

Yes, there’s definitely music coming out of there, the casual strumming of a stringed instrument that doesn’t have anywhere to go. Someone might be humming too, it’s hard to tell from a distance.

Nina follows the sound.

The door is open, just a bit, and all the lights are on. Sitting alone in the room is Trixie Mattel, bent in concentration over her autoharp.

Out of drag, she looks smaller, more vulnerable. It’s clear just how young she is. She’s picking at a tune, murmuring something under her breath. Nina suddenly feels a warm breeze against his skin, and the melody that Trixie’s playing becomes clearer, a delicate bluegrass riff that would be at home on Nina’s old Emmylou Harris or Linda Ronstadt records.

Along with the warm breeze comes a gust of dandelion seeds, floating through the hallway like tiny wisps of cotton. Nina feels like he’s alone with Trixie in the middle of a waving wheat field, sun-baked and desolate. He can smell the cracked soil beneath his feet, hear the sound of crickets chirping in time with Trixie’s brittle melody.

Oh no. That _thing_ is happening again.

Trixie starts to sing:

_“You’re the brightest star in any room._

_I’m never lonelier than when I’m with you._

_I miss something that’s never happened._

_I miss a place I’ve never been to.”_

Her voice is quiet at first, but it grows louder.

_“There are some bridges that you cannot cross_

_Say it again ‘til I convince myself_

_But all this certainty it feels like loss._

_I wouldn’t risk this much for no one else.”_

Trixie gets to her feet, starts walking through the wheatfield as she sings the chorus.

_“And there’s a wide field between us_

_How you traveled all those miles without me I don’t understand_

_I’m always on the edge of falling_

_And you could pull me over just by reaching out your hand_

_If you’d only take that chance.”_

She keeps plucking at the harp, and Nina feels words welling up inside him, ready to spill from his mouth (when he starts singing, he’s thinking of Monét. Because of course he is.)

_“This sort of thing, it don’t come easy_

_I never know just what to do or say_

_It feels impossible, believe me_

_That you would ever look at me that way.”_

He thinks of Monét’s lips on Shangela’s after the Snatch Game. He thinks of Monét’s eyes on him at the bar. (“Be careful lookin’ at people like that, Nina West.”)

_“There are some bridges that you cannot cross_

_I built up walls around this paper heart_

_But when I see you I forget it_

_All of the reasons we should be apart.”_

Trixie harmonizes along with Nina as he sings the chorus.

_“And there’s a wide field between us_

_How I traveled all these miles, baby, I don’t understand_

_I’m always on the edge of falling_

_And you could pull me over by just reaching out your hand_

_But could I ever take that chance?”_

Nina sings the last line one more time, feeling the weight of his hopeless longing rising like a tide inside his chest. “ _If you’d only take that chance…”_

“Nina?”

“Um.”

Trixie is sitting in the conference room, staring at him. She’s holding her autoharp but there’s no flowing wheatfields or whatever. Somehow Nina ended up in the doorway, just standing there. Fuck’s sake. Is he dissociating? _Musically???_ This is unbearable.

“How long have you been there?” Trixie asks, confused.

“Um, just got - here, so -” Nina’s face is probably turning bright red, and he’s hoping against that he hasn’t just been shouting song lyrics blankly at a terrified Trixie Mattel for the past few minutes. “Are you okay?”

Trixie winces. Then she nods.

“Yeah, of course. Just - yes. Couldn’t sleep. Figuring some - stuff out. You?”

“Just - you know. Having an emotional spiral.”

“Oh honey…” Trixie’s smiling but her voice is soft and sad. “My first perm was an emotional spiral, honey.”

Nina laughs in a brittle way, because 1) Trixie’s hilarious and 2) it’s obvious she’s trying to make him feel better.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” Trixie sighs, shakes her head. “But thanks.”

Nina leaves her to it. After - whatever that just was - he feels ready to crash at long last. He’s still a bit buzzed from the tequila, but his nervous energy has banked, and he heads back to his room. He’s ready to sleep, ready to deal with tomorrow when it gets here.

So of course, there’s someone waiting for him outside his room.

“Nina West.” Maya the P.A. gives him a slow, broad smile the moment he comes into view. “Found your way back, hey? Great. We need to talk.”

* * *

 

_Interlude: Trixie_

Conversation with:

swamp thing

**i cunt believe i agreed to this**

**Fuck autocorrect CANT**

It knows what you REALLY MEANT

**It knew i was texting you and assumed**

I’ll take it

**You’ll take anything**

I ain’t proud mama

I’m hunnnnnngry

For serious though, things okay there?

**For serious serious**

4 C-ri-us

**GROSS**

That’s gonna be my dj name

Please welcome to the stage

**Why do I talk to you**

**Why do i even know you**

**Yes things are find its just weird**

**Being back on set**

**And like also runnign a business and**

**planning a tour and all of it. At least**

**they let us keep our phones**

Must be hard being successful

I’m crying for you

**I didn’t know you could still produce tears**

I squeeze em out

Like milking a cow

Just need the right suction

**Stop talking to me**

What can you say that you won’t get sued for

I want drama

Who’s fisting who

**Ha monet wishes she was fisting someone**

**Shes like middle school crushing on a queen here**

**Its kinda cute and sad**

If love isn’t pathetic i don’t want it

**And there’s last seasons whole thing**

**#branjie**

**sell those hats**

That is not about hats

I saw them at a show in LA last summer

They’re fucked up in love, mama

**IN LOVE???**

**Who even are you**

I’m a person who has eyes

that can see things

Are they not together? They’re togther right?

**NOPE**

Are you fucking kidding

I don’t believe it

**Since when are you this romantic**

I’m not romantic

I have no romance in my bones

It’s just OBVIOUS

**Well not to them**

**SO**

Ahhhh the gays

When will we figure our shit out

Realize what’s right in front of us

You gone?

**Yeah sorry**

**Going to pass out**

**Don’t die or anything**

**Whiel i’m gone**

Aren’t you sweet

 

Conversation with:

sure thing

**Doing anything fun tonight?**

**Or just missing me**

**Babe?**

**Ok sorry filming again**

**Call you on break**

**Do not let me do this again**

**I don’t care what they offer me**

**(id o care what they offer me)**

**Breaks over talk to you after?**

**How was your day?**

**Call me if you want**

**I’m done for the night**

**Just getting white girl wasted alone**

**In my hotel room**

**At the mini bar yes i’m that famous now**

**I’m gonna crash call me if you get this**

**Love u**

Conversation with:

swamp thing

I dreamt that i was in a bsatroom

At mcdonalds that one you puked in

After the show in philadelphia

Do you remember? Probably not

And you were there and fucking

Gordon ramsay was there (!!!)

And he wad hitting on you

And i wasd so pissed off

And thrn this lady came in and was like

‘You can’t be in here, this is for ronald only” And i fully shot her with a GUN

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN TRACY

I just woke up and feel like a monster

She was just doing her job

Ronald mcdonald needs his private shitter

And i just killed her

I killed a living dream person

**Thank you for sharing this with me**

**I feel so close to you right now**

Yeah i don’t confess dream murder

to just ayone

But WHAT DOES IT MEAN???

**Latent Ronald mcdonald fetish**

**Clearly**

**I’m not a doctor or anythng**

**But i’m sorry you’re dying**

Yep yep makes sense

I always knew it would end like this

fuck/marry/kill

me/gordan ramsay/ronald mcD

(you wanna know what the D stands for)

**No i want to sleep**

**For 3 more hours**

**But i’m on reality tv again**

**You should havw stopped me**

Maybe this dream was a warning!

I’m supposed to save you

From endng up on Chopped

What did you dream about?

U have to tell me even if it’s sexy

That’s the law

**Another teeth falling out one**

Mama you know that’s my kink

 

Conversation with:

sure thing

**Good morning sexy thing**

**I’m so tiiiiiired**

**Don’t make me get up yet**

**Hey are u alive?**

Yes

**Yay u r alive!**

**I called u yesterday night**

**And at lunch**

**U ok?**

**Did u get my messages?**

yes

**Ok**

**Can i call you?**

**I miss your voice**

I cant talk right now

Sorry

**Ok**

**I’ll call you tonight**

**After filming?**

Sure

**Love u gorgeous**

**Hey just called left a message**

**Give me a shout later**

**I miss you**

Brian

Have you seen the pics

from the MTV Movie Awards?

**Ummm ok**

**No i’ll look them up**

**Ok**

**Fuck my lashes are so uneven**

**U breaking up with me over lashes**

**Lol**

U and kat are pretty cuddly

**Haha**

**are u being serious**

**Ur joking**

**Are u ok? Can i call u?**

I’m out right now

Call you when i get home

**Ok**

**But we’ve talked about this before right**

**U know we’re friends**

**Me and Kat**

**We’re just friends**

**U know this**

Yeah i have lots of friends

And we don’t hold hands and kiss eachother

All the fucking time

**So we’re fdoing this over text?**

**Is that what we’re doing**

No i’ll call u later

**Call me ok? I love u**

**U cannot be jealous of katya**

**She’s my Business Partner**

**And it’s DRAG**

**We touch each otehr all the time**

**We all do**

Gotta go call u later

Conversation with:

swamp thing

**Can we talk?**

**Not if ur busy**

Let me just stop blowing this senator

And kick the clowns out

And get thes handcuffs off

**No i’m not worth it**

**Keep these good things goin**

It was winding down anyway

Gettin awkward

I have yoga tomorrow

Whats up pussycat

**This is gonna sound really weird**

**Have you seen the pics of us**

**from the movie awwrds**

Probably blocked them out

why????

am i like a troll

**No more than usual**

**David texted me about them**

**And he’s all pissed off??**

**Because of us holding hands**

**Like so so stupid right**

WHAT???!

Thats crazy!

Im so sorry

This isn’t the handmaids tale

He can calm his tits

(sorry, not to attack him just) Has he seen our shows??

What did you tell him

**To fucking call me!!!**

**And he hasn’t**

**And i’m on this stupid set and can’t just go**

**See him and convince him how crazy he is**

I’m so sorry

Do you want me to call him

I’ll call him

Tell me what to say

**No don’t**

**Don’t worry**

**Its fine**

**I’ll talk to him**

Conversation with:

swamp thing

**Hey are you awake**

**If youre awake call me**

**david and I are done**

**over the phone**

**FUN**

**sorry you’re clearly asleep**

**I’m just a little drunk**

**brian**

**he said some things**

**that ive been thinking about**

**maybe call me tomorrow if u can**

**guess ill see you soon anyway**

**dont die while im gone**

 

**miss u**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The audio for this chapter will be posted to our Tumblrs soon!
> 
> Let us know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Feel free to swing by our Tumblrs! Mia is @mia-ugly and Meggie is @artificialmeggie
> 
> We love talking with you guys, especially about HFIG and all things Ninex (it's Meggie's love language. That and gifts). :)

**Author's Note:**

> Let us know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Feel free to swing by our tumblrs! Mia is @mia-ugly and Meggie is @artificialmeggie
> 
> We love talking with you guys :)


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